


Back to Reality

by Sherb42



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Conventions, Cosplay, Crack Treated Seriously, Gen, I don't really know what you expect from me in this, Kirk gets arrested, Metafiction, Mistaken Identity, Rating rise in chap 11 for mild impalement-related gore, VHS tapes are plot relevant when they need to be, but please don't make it a lot, con antics, the gang get stuck in the real world and go to a convention
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-01
Updated: 2020-05-06
Packaged: 2020-06-02 04:43:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 37,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19434181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sherb42/pseuds/Sherb42
Summary: Due to the nature of the multiverse, it is possible that there is a reality where the universe that we know of so well is nothing more than fictional TV show named ‘Star Trek.’ After a failed attempt to leave a planet surrounded in mysterious storms, an Enterprise team find themselves in this very reality – and on the same weekend and city that a science fiction convention is being held in their honour.If that wasn't bad enough, it appears that theirs, and the lives of the people behind 'Star Trek' are at risk unless our heroes can intervene.[This is a work in progress, any comments, critiques, and other such interactions would be greatly appreciated.]





	1. The Storm before the Calm

**Author's Note:**

> If you were wondering if this was supposed to be TOS or AOS, my answer is yes. Actually, consider this to be set in the TAS canon but an AU where Chekov is there. Why? Because this is my fic and I get to determine that. It’s all the same people, anyways. 
> 
> Have you people even seen TAS? It’s fucking wild. Also arguably better than both TOS and AOS and I will forever stand by that. All these acronyms are doing me in, let's just start.

Taltuis V. A planet towards the border of the Alpha quadrant that was long assumed to be nothing more than a small gas planet surrounded with three moons with little to no life forms. It was later found that there was intelligent life on the planet and that it was in fact, mostly rock. The planet simply had a very thick and colourful atmosphere. 

For a period of time in the middle of its year, the planet’s atmosphere becomes thick, electrical clouds that bring on the wet season. Traditionally, the day before the atmosphere was to be enveloped in this cloud, big parties and celebrations were held. For that reason, it was seen as a good day for a gala for showcasing Taltuisian culture for other federation representatives and ambassadors alike before the planet’s impending entrance into the galactic federation. 

In many ways, it wasn’t a needed celebration, but the Altaki wanted to put their best knee forward and reputation forward before the rest of the universe. Who would any of us be to deny them that opportunity? 

In appearance, the Altaki were sort of like a cross between a catfish and a snail. Their two eyes blinked from left and right instead of top and bottom, and their mouths were sideways in the same way. It was a little strange if you were not used to seeing them speak, but it would have been just as strange for them to see other, more conventional humanoids. Most of the native life on this planet had this vibe. 

Another interesting fact about them is the way that they, like a lot of life on the planet, camouflaged themselves. Instead of matching the colour to its environment like an animal on Earth may, they had evolved to affect the perception of other lifeforms to trick them into not being seen. You could be looking right at the Taltuisian version of a cow (something called a ‘Y’huk, if you were interested – although you can’t really eat them as they evolved to have pebbles of bone through their flesh as yet another defence mechanism) and not even notice it unless you really paid attention. You have most likely seen an Altaki before and just forgotten, likely in the background of large crowds. 

Over the centuries of Taltuisian cultural development this style of camouflage during wartimes and general practice, and even in their transports and shelter when it was needed. There are large predators, many of what can fly, on Taltuis V, so every little bit can help. 

Plus, once you notice it, it just looks neat. That’s the main thing. 

Even as good as the celebration planned to be, it sadly had to be put to an end a lot sooner than expected. This was easily explained through the all too familiar effects of global warming. And, well, a decent need for something somewhat big to happen to jumpstart this story. This story doesn’t actually take place during this gala, but right after it. Rest assured that all the information that I have given you will come back into importance later on.

Keeping more on topic, the storms were almost a full day early. Normally there wouldn’t be so much of a rush to leave the planet, even more as it’s not a constant downpour strong enough to affect your normal day-to-day life on the surface on the planet, as long as that day-to-day doesn’t require a huge amount of light. The main problem was that the storms where thick enough that electronic signals can get through, so no transporters. Flying through the troposphere of the planet is also a problem in itself with just how difficult it is. Think flying without any sensors or readings, but it’s also pitch black. The best you can do is ‘up’, and even that is hard. 

About an hour or so ago the red alert was sent out for any aliens to leave and it’s been a pretty mad dash to get out of there ever since. It wasn’t any fault of the Altaki, but that didn’t stop them from blaming themselves about how disastrous the night had ended up. 

“It’s alright, Princess,” Kirk said, holding the arm of the Altakin royalty who was given the strenuous job of hosting the gala. “It’s not any of your fault,” Kirk was in his stiff green formal uniform, as was the high majority of the rest of his crew for the event. 

The princess blinked, her face full of worry. Her long robes were adorned with a large amount of common gold. “I know, but…”

“Please, don’t worry about it. Everybody is out and safe and I can vouch for the rest of the federation that there are no hard feelings. You can’t control the weather.”

“I do hope so,” She replied, a thick accent through her voice, “I really do.” 

Kirk smiled a soft, reassuring smile. 

“Captain,” A formal men's voice said from behind the two. 

Kirk took his hand off the princess’ arm and turned around towards the voice. 

“I think it would be best for us to leave now,” Spock said with a very subtle twang on impatience to his voice. It was hard to hear, but it was implied strongly enough. As far as he knew, the two of them were the last ones still on the planet, and were running out of time to leave. 

“Right, yes,” Kirk looked back at the princess. “Thank you again.” 

She gave a soft bow of respect as Kirk walked back to where Spock was standing and brought up his communicator, “This is Kirk to the Enterprise,” he said into it. 

The little device buzzed in loud static. “I -buzz- read -buzz- you,’ came the distorted voice of a transporter technician. 

Kirk and Spock exchanged looks. “How well do you think that a transporter will be able to work through that interference, Mr Spock?”

“Well,” Spock said, calculating the best way for him to say ‘absolutly fucking horribly’ like the serious Vulcan that he is.

“Keptin!” A frantic voice called out from the far end of the hall. Kirk and Spock turned around to its source. The source himself, Pavel Chekov, was standing in the doorway, panting. “Keptain, wait, we’re still here!”

“Chekov!” Kirk replied as he walked towards him slightly irate. “What are you still doing here? Everybody was told to leave ages ago.”

“I know, I know,” he replied, catching his breath. “It’s Mr Scott, sir.”

“Scotty? What are you talking about? What’s happened?”

“This!” Came out another voice from down the hall. Kirk looked down it. Half carrying, half dragging another man was Dr McCoy and one of the Altaki in a dress clothing. “He’s taken a shot of B’rath,” came his disappointed, but unsurprised, voice. 

“What’s that?” Kirk asked.

“An Altakin drink, much stronger than anything he’ll be used to – and that’s saying something.”

Bones gave his half of Scotty to Chekov as he put his hands on his hips. “Think all the effects of the best night of your life all at once,” He said, watching Scotty’s body be shuffled around. 

“My Goodness, that’s horrible,” Kirk said softly. 

“Don’t feel too bad for him, he knew what he was in for,” McCoy replied. “Took the thing over half an hour ago and we still can’t seem to wake him up.”

The Altakin on the other side gave a concerned look. McCoy looked at them, “Don’t worry, it’s not your fault. The only problem is,” he said, standing on his heels wonky enough to show that he wasn’t the only one who had been drinking in their little group, “is that he’s hardly even going to have a hangover.” 

Scotty growned a painful, vomit-impending grown. 

Kirk looked back at McCoy. “There was a call over an hour ago for everybody to leave! What have you three been doing this whole time?” he asked, a mix of concern and disappointment in his voice. Both expressions laced with both the feelings of an old friend and of the guy who’s responsible for them as a captain. 

“Well clearly we didn’t hear it,” McCoy said, slightly disgruntled. “They’re all rather hard to pay attention too, if you didn't remember that. We didn’t even know until this blue yabbo was in our face telling us to leave,” he had gestured to the Altaki who was still near them, looking slightly embarrassed. At this point Spock had come closer to the group and took the other half of Scotty from the Altaki, leaving very little for Chevok to actually carry.

“Alright then, back to the ship,” Kirk said as the small group made their way back to the balcony. The reasoning here is that the reception might be just slightly better. Once there Kirk flicked open his communicator once again. 

“Kirk to En-“ The machine made a loud stactic sound, lough enough for Kirk to almost drop the communicator in response. Kirk looked into his communicator in surprise, his face seemed to go stiff with concern. 

“If a radio signal is having trouble being received through the storm, then I do not suspect that a transport beam would have much of a chance,” Spock reported in a very matter-of-fact way. 

“I think you might be right, there,” Kirk said, looking back at Spock and clipping the communicator to back onto his belt. 

“Well, gentlemen, what’s the big plan, then?” McCoy asked. 

“We have shuttlecrafts,” an Altaki called out from a half level from inside of the palace. The Enterprise crew turned to face her. “… if that helps.”

Kirk bit his lip. “It might just have too.” His eyes seemed to lock onto the princess's, who had been watching with visible concern this whole time. 

“Yes, that’s a good idea.” She commented before studying the sky. “In theory.”

“What's your theory?” Kirk asked. 

She looked at him. “At best, you’ve got about a day to get through,”

“And at the worse?” Asked McCoy. 

“About four hours.” She replied, dread in her voice, she knew for a fact that that the real answer would be a lot less than that from how fast it had come already. This is the sort of thing that you never let yourself forget about. Alien representatives and leaders from other planets and allegiances! And they get trapped on your planet after a failed gala! This had really not been a good day for her. “You wouldn’t have to return it, it can be spared if needed.”

“Thank you, Princess. We’ll make sure to keep it in one piece.” Kirk said before turning towards the others. “Right, let’s go,” he commanded. It was the best that they could do, and they had to do it quickly. 

The others nodded. Scotty threw up something dark purple, thankfully not on anybody. Spock still made sure to step out of the way just before it happened, leaving his boots clean.


	2. Dimension Jump

If given a good reason, and enough political power, it doesn’t take much to gain access to a halfway decent shuttlecraft. That at least, is brief enough of an interaction to be able to happen off-screen and between chapters. Spock was designated to flying the shuttle, and Chekov was looking after the other side of the station. 

The interference from the storm was still strong, leaving the only way that they could fly the shuttlecraft away from the planet was to look out the window and point the ship in the direction that they wanted it to go. Incredibly arcadic, but hey, it worked. The ship’s scanners were weak, so it didn’t really leave much for Chekov to do - not that he was really needed to anything else besides to keep on trying to contact the Enterprise in a ‘wait for us’ sort of manner, anyways. Just keep on sending it out and eventually you’ll get close enough for it to be heard. 

For the most part, the journey up was quite a drag. The storm was quite a pretty sight to see, lots of pinks and oranges with dark patches of black marbled in-between with young lighting zapping away. After a while of travelling, the shuttlecraft came into a clearing, a pocket of the storms on its own little nebula-like universe. Off in the distance in one direction was a large, whale-like creature that was built like a blimp, and by its side was what would have been its calf. The baby’s body wasn’t yet as hard as the mothers, but it flew well enough to keep up. By the looks of them at the style of the shuttlecraft, it was possible that these creatures became a source of avian inspiration to the native humanoids much like a bird did on earth. 

Kirk leaned on a side window of the shuttlecraft, watching the two of them for a few moments that they were in the clearing with them. Kirk had always seemed to like the idea of whales, and always had a soft spot for the creatures, or creatures like them. He wasn’t born early enough to see one in person, but had seen recreations of them when he was younger based on old scans and two-dimensional footage. The calf puffed out its large body to briefly overtake its mother before the shuttlecraft left the clearing. 

“You don’t get to see something like that every day, huh?” He said to anybody who was willing to respond. 

“Indeed, sir,” Spock replied, watching the monitors around him blink and flash. 

“If the transporters would have worked we wouldn’t have gotten to see them.” Kirk continued as he sat down in one of the chairs by the back of the shuttlecraft, mind still in awe at what he had seen. 

“Don’t consider this a good thing,” McCoy snapped back. “This isn’t a good thing.” He was standing on the back wall, Scotty half asleep on the chair before him. The ship only had four seats, so that was fun.

The clouds got thicker, and the electromagnetic energy only got stronger. The only sounds that they had around them were the sound of a ship and air conditioner whirr, the ping of an external scanner and distant thunder. It also began to get dark, really dark. The console of the shuttle glowed in a neon light. They had nothing but the ship’s gyroscope to guide them out, now. 

Chekov glanced over at the screen he was stationed next too, blinked, and then looked at it again. “Keptin,” He said, keeping his eyes on the screen. 

Kirk looked up from the window. “Yes, Ensign?”

“It’s a little fuzzy, but I think there is something close to us - some sort of ship.” Chekov began to use what little scanning ability the ship had to try and get a decent picture. 

Spock leaned over at the other side of the controls to what Chekov was looking over. “Indeed.” He said before he leaned back into his own controls. 

_“Is_ it another ship?” Kirk asked. 

Chekov took a moment to respond after pressing a few buttons on his console. “It’s hard to tell, but it -” he put up something else over that screen, “- looks like it’s getting bigger.” 

“Hail them, see what you can find.”

“Aye sir,” Chekov said as he did just that. A few quiet moments of nothing happening passed. “Keptin, it’s getting closer,” Chekov said with worry in his voice. The darkened blob on his monitor was speeding towards them at an alarming speed. 

“Nothing?”

“Nothing.” 

Kirk bit his lip. 

“It might be a living creature,” Spock suggested. They had seen the blimp-whales a moment before, it couldn’t be that unrealistic that there might be other large lifeforms in the clouds. 

Kirk brought his hands to his face. “Alright then, outfly it.” 

Spock speed the ship up, the whirr of the engine growing faster.

Chekov’s face seemed to fall a little bit further. “Keptin, I think it’s chasing us.” 

The storm somehow seemed to grow thicker, a real-life dramatic cue from the planet. 

_“Keptin-“_ Chekov said with impatience in his voice, turning around in his chair. 

“Brace for impact,” Kirk said with a nod as everybody braced themselves with a lean for a hit. The ship lurched when it happened, causing them all to be thrown across the shuttlecraft. Scotty let out a panicked yelp as it happened. 

“What in the bloody-“

“Scotty’s up!” McCoy said, holding onto the side of Scotty’s former chair and looking back at the engineer on the floor. 

The crew was scattered around the floor, except for that of Spock, who had gripped onto the steering controls of the shuttle so tight that you could take his fingerprints off the now-engraved metal. 

The ship sputtered, the sound of something banged loudly from the side. “Adjus-“ Spock began to say before the ship was thrown in the other direction, the rest of the crew following in suite. 

“Something’s got us!” Scotty said, hearing the sound of the ship’s struggle. 

“Like what?” Kirk asked, looking through a gap made though his upside down body in a failed attempt of a yoga pose. 

“Something big!” 

“Increasing thruster power,” Spock informed. There was a very light panic to his voice, but it was hard to hear. 

Chekov lifted himself up and back onto his chair. His station didn’t seem to respond when he tried to press something on it. “Whatever it is, it’s all around us.” He shouted. The ‘whatever’ was still banging on the shuttlecraft, as if it was trying to get in. 

the storm around them got louder. 

There was another bang, the loudest of them all yet. The ship’s engines began to buzz, the whirr of them working starting to die down. 

Chekov leaned over and tried to make sense of the panicking readouts. “Engine's reaching a critical limit.” He reported before his attention got caught on something new on his screen. “I can discharge it all,” he turned to a shaken-up Kirk, “That might shake it off us.”

The shuttle shook again. “Now!” Kirk yelled out. Everybody braced themselves. 

Little did any of them know, a bolt of lightning had hit their ship at the same moment, the extra power created acting as almost a lightning rod. This wasn’t a storm made of water, and this wasn’t electricity made of friction alone. They didn’t know this had the time, it wasn’t like they had no rhyme or reason to know otherwise. 

The raging storm around them seemed to clear and turn into a different type of storm. The think, solid of the Taltuisian storm was suddenly replaced with thin, dark clouds ready to turn into an aggressive downpour at any given moment. 

Whatever had been holding onto the shuttlecraft let go, throwing it with force towards the surface. An echo of a deep, animalistic call came from the distance. For the third time, the ship’s crew was thrown around inside of it. 

“The engine’s been punctured!” Scotty yelled. He knew what that sounded like. It wasn’t a good sound. 

The ship was turned into an unsteady level, the grumble of the suffering engine not taking well to the added strain. “Ship’s stable, but not efficient enough to leave the planet’s gravitational field,” Spock reported, his hair somehow ending up being the messiest of the five from all the turbulence. 

“Take her down Mr Spock,” Kirk said, still holding onto his chair. 

The ship kept on chugging downwards, and was struggled to do so. There was turbulence when they would have left the heart of the storm, the light from the outside grew brighter, almost warmer. Whatever had happened, it wasn’t late at night anymore. 

There wasn’t enough time to get a good look at the landscape below them. It wasn’t the lush red and purple of the Taltuisian countryside, but it seemed a lot more industrial. Chekov sat up in his chair, leaning over the dashboard to get a better look at where they were. 

Nobody on the ship knew what had happened, but there was a gut feeling that it wasn’t good.

* * *

Kirk looked around at the half-abandoned junkyard that he had found himself and his crew in. The landing into this little half-fenced area was rough, but it was a landing regardless.

There where old cars around them from what looked like varying styles of the 20th century of Earth, and a handful of tarps presumably covering more. It seemed to be a late afternoon, but it was hard to tell what time of the year it was other than it was cold enough for a jacket. 

Going beyond the junkyard, it was the type of area that would have once been beef pastures or a small training airport, and had most likely had been both at various points in history. It looked like it had either recently rained or was about too, the sky covered in dark green clouds that didn’t know what they wanted to do. It was most likely a historic Earth, and absolutely not the planet that they were only an hour ago. It somehow felt like the early half of the afternoon.

All of these points were right. Still, there are much worse places to be. 

Kirk turned around a put his hands on his hips as he looked at his shaken up crew. Nobody was hurt, but it was a very strange predicament to be in. 

“There’s a lot of damage back here.” Scotty said, standing towards the back of the ship. The shuttlecraft’s equivalent of a boot door was open and hanging above him. The door had a huge hole in it, as so did a few other parts of the ship. “I was right. Looks like something has gone into it with a sword.”

Kirk seemed to blink in confusion. “A… _sword?”_

“Well, knife, something big, sharp, and had the force to match. What exactly it was doesn’t matter.” 

“Strange.” Kirk replied in the absence of anything better to say. 

Chekov had been standing on top of one of the cars, scouting a little like a meerkat. “Keptin!” he called out, cutting off any reply that Scotty may have been able to give. 

Kirk looked over at Chekov, and then to what he was pointing towards. 

If there was a bad time for somebody to drive past them, now would be a good candidate. At that time a man in a scrap-filled old pickup slowed down as it passed the exposed shuttlecraft. The driver stopped by the time he got to Kirk and looked at him, mouth chewing either gum or tobacco. There was a dog in the tray, but it didn’t seem all that interested in what was going on. 

“What’s that?” the man asked, leaning out of the window, sunglasses dipped on nose. 

Kirk seemed to freeze. He wasn’t used for this sort of confrontation, much less have somebody just, come up to him like that and ask if there was a spaceship right next to him when there so clearly was.

“Spaceship?” He asked again, waiting for a reply. 

“Well, yes. Yes it is.” Kirk replied. If he had pockets he would have moved his hands into them. 

“Dope.” The man replied before driving out of the yard without a second thought. 

Cut scene, shot change to one of the group pulling a spare tarp over the shuttlecraft. Scotty pushing the end of the tarp out of the way as he and the open engine came out from under it. He walked a meter or so away from the ship and looked at the mess the group was in, he was much, much too hungover for this. 

Scotty put an elbow over his head, trying to centre himself. 

Kirk looked over at him. “Don’t push yourself, Mr Scott. You’re still not well.” 

“It’s not me that I’m worried about, captain,” came the muffled reply through his elbow.


	3. Paved With Gold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may have noticed that I've been calling Bones ‘McCoy’ in this. Calling him ‘Bones’ felt weird and far too informal - that’s my only reason.

Over the chapter skip, not much has changed. A bit of time has passed, but our setting is still the same. Kirk, Scotty, and McCoy were still around the landing zone doing what they could to figure out what happened. At one point a bit of a ‘tent’ was made for Scotty work under, crafted from two poles that they had found around the yard. 

The rain was also starting to pick up, but not enough for concern. One might be affected if they had glasses on, but it wasn’t enough to need an umbrella just yet. 

The sound of a bunch of small metallic chips clinking around came from where Scotty still was. The others looked back at him as he moved out from under his work area to show that he was okay. 

“I’ve found where the waste product of the ship goes,” Scotty said. “It’s a little bin filled with, well, gold.” 

McCoy walked up to where Scotty was working. “Gold?” he said skeptically, his arms crossed.

“Aye. It looks like it.” The pellets themselves were around the size of matchsticks boxes, but half as tall. 

There was a beat of everybody looking at each other. “Have you ever seen something like that before?” Kirk asked. He certainly hadn’t. Maybe in old Earth vehicles with carbon waste, but it was never solidified like this. 

“Not exactly, but it might help to figure out how this all works. It seems fairly basic, all-in-all.” 

“Well, at least it’s recyclable,” McCoy said. 

Scotty hummed in agreement. “It’s highly conductible - that’s probably why there is a way to collect it all, so they can re-use it.”

“That got used in a lot of old computers, didn’t it?” Kirk asked, also coming in closer for a look. 

“Aye. Still is in some cases.” 

Spock walked back up to the group, hands behind his back. “Gentlemen,” he said, a fraying blue scrap from a shuttlecraft seat covering being used as an impromptu bandana to cover up his Vulcan features. He was surprisingly good at pulling off the look. 

“Hey, Spock,” Kirk said, turning to his friend with a smile. He seemed happy to see Spock again. 

“We have done a quick survey of our surrounding area. Industrial, but there are many resources available to us.” This scouting mostly involved walking around in a few-block ratio with Chekov. There was a highway not too far from them, and this whole area seemed to be designed around people getting off the highway or basics for those who lived there. 

“There is a ‘motel’ two blocks away from us, several storefronts, as well as an assortment of locations where you can purchase food.” Spock continued. “By the architecture, clothing style, and automobiles present, I believe it is safe to assume that we are in the first half of the 21st century, likely to be the early 2020’s.”

Kirk moved over and sat on the top of the stairs that were leading out of the shuttle, pushing the tarp away as he sat and leaving the tarp open like an open curtain. “We’ve been on Earth around 70 or so years before this, it can’t be all that different.” 

Spock looked at Kirk. “Actually, Captain-” 

Kirk cut him off with a wave of his hand. “Never mind, Mr Spock, I retract that statement.” 

Spock rose an eyebrow, but didn't comment on the matter any further. 

“This is all well and good, but we would still need money to do anything here, and we have none.” Kirk continued, trying to get back on topic. 

“Bartering and trading were still in effect in this time period, and natural materials still held high monetary value.” Spock answered, already anticipating the question. 

Chekov was leaning on a rusting car. “Like what?” he asked. 

Spock kept on talking. “Solid and polished carbon had value, refined quartz, or other such finished minerals.” 

“So basically anything pretty,” came a drawl from McCoy. "It's like dealing with Ferengi."

Kirk looked at McCoy. “If we are somehow in the past, it’s not like we have many other options.”

McCoy shot him a look. “Jim, we don’t have that option to begin wi-“

A sound of a bucket full of large coins came from behind them. It was Scotty holding out the gold bin. 

“It _cannot_ be that easy,” McCoy said in disbelief. 

“It just might be.” Kirk replied with a smile.

* * *

Whose job did it end up being to actually sell the gold? Doctor McCoy and Chekov. Well, McCoy mostly, but Chekov knew where to go and wanted to tag along. They had only brought a little bit of it to test their luck. McCoy thought it was a stupid idea, but he would be lying if he said he hadn’t been asked to do worse worth his time. 

“-Yes, good afternoon.”

“I saw your sign-“

“Yes, not just gold, any jewellery.”

“Oh. Just had a better ring to it all?”

“In a sense.”

“Good. Could I-“

The jeweller clerk looked up at the 20-minutes-until-closing clock and then back at McCoy. By the time he had looked back the gold was on the table. “Yeah you can,” He said, tone changing completely as he sat upon his stool. 

“Good, good,” McCoy said with a smile. 

“Just give me a little bit to check it all,” The clerk said as he handled the gold. “How’d you get ahold of all of this?”

McCoy coughed into his fist. “Oh, well, it’s all been sitting around the house for a while now collecting dust. Might as well just up and sell it.”

The clerk looked back at McCoy before putting a smaller bit of the gold in a Karatmeter and pressed a few buttons on the machine. By the time that he had looked back up to keep on talking to his client, he had already wandered off to look around the rest of the store. 

He shrugged and kept on doing his thing. “Those two must be on their way to that nerd thing in the city.” The jeweller said to the woman who was also behind the counter taking stock. She looked up from the tablet that she had been working on, looked at McCoy look over a men’s t-shirt, and then shrugged and locked up a display of rings. 

“Oh, anything to get out of these uniforms,” McCoy said to himself with a grumble, tugging at his gold collar as he sorted through the racks of old-fashioned clothing. A men’s white t-shirt with ‘Go climb a rock’ written on it caught his eye and made him chuckle to himself. It was one of the most ‘Jim Kirk’ things he had ever seen for sale. 

The first hat that McCoy noticed on a wall full of them by the back of the men’s clothing section was a black beanie with a little graphic of some kind of cartoony alien-like green head with huge black eyes. Was it subtle? No. Was it perfect for Spock? Oh, absolutely.

“Doctor, look at this,” Chekov’s voice came from a few meters away from him. He was over by a large collection of kids toys and was holding up some sort of helmet. The helmet itself was large and white with a light on the top of it. Printed on the front of it was ‘SPOCK’ in big black letters. The helmet looked like it had a long history. 

McCoy began to laugh. He just couldn’t help it. 

“Is it some sort of slang?” Chekov asked, just as baffled at the object as McCoy was. “The product name?”

“I have no idea.” McCoy replied, a chuckle still in his voice. 

Chekov put the helmet down kept on walking around the thrift store. There seemed to be two ‘main’ sections of it: jewellery by the counter by the back and all the other junk people had donated. All the clothing was in the latter area. It wasn’t as much of a normal thrift store, but more of a pawnbroker that gave up a long time ago. It was either that or a gold reselling place that opened up inside of the larger thrift store as a sort of symbiotic foot traffic harnesser slash use of a small extra space. Still, it served their, and the plots', needs. 

He ended up back towards the front of the store by a large area of unsorted clothing in cardboard boxes. Half a faded jean jacket into one of these boxes he spotted what looked like a thin, space-vibey, jersey. Something about it just sort of spoke to him, and picking out of the bin didn’t settle that vibe. 

There didn’t seem to be a price anywhere, so he took the jersey a few meters to the side to the front desk. The man who had been sitting there with a book in hand had been watching him go around the store. 

“That got donated today, actually.” The man sitting behind the counter said before Chekov had a chance to ask anything. He looked about 20 years older than the one who dealt with the jewellery. 

Chekov looked back at the jersey. It did look quite new. 

The clerk shrugged. “Five bucks?” 

McCoy came up to the counter with a small pile of clothing and dumped them on the counter. “Deal.”

* * *

Kirk brought out his communicator. He didn’t really know why he was playing around with it, but it didn’t hurt. The little machine buzzed for a few seconds before it tuned into a radio frequency. It was a male DJ, halfway through a news report of some kind. 

“-her for this afternoon looks like it’s going to pass us without a high amount of rain, but if you’re still planning to go out tonight I’d suggest an umbrella,” he said in a casual tone. “This is radio R47.2 and I’ll be right back after this.” He finished before a jazz song started playing. 

Kirk blinked and closed the communicator with a click. Clearly, that wasn’t going to be of any use for him just yet - unless they wanted to listen to some public access radio tunes while they sat around and worked out what to do. 

Over by the gates of the junkyard, two men made their way under the half-closed gates. One was in a faded sweater, and another, the younger one, in a jersey. The sweatered one had a fabric tote bag around his shoulder with some eco-friendly message printed on the side. They paused once they got in and seemed to scout the area for a while. 

“Bones!” Kirk called out, waving his hands around. McCoy turned around, flinching as if he suddenly noticed the rest of his group. He and Chekov made their way in their direction. 

“Hey, Jim,” McCoy said as he came towards the others. 

“Are you alright there? You look a little distant.”

“No, it’s just... it was as if I had forgotten that you lot were even parked here.” McCoy said, scratching the back of his neck. 

“You’re rather dressed up,” Kirk interjected, a hand over his mouth to try and give off a sign of surprise that he didn’t have. 

“If you think I’ve got so little self-respect as to keep in that dress uniform for longer than I need to, then you’re wrong” McCoy replied in a matching tone, the sweater digging into his neck. “Here ya go,” he said as he dug into the tote and threw a white tee and a long-sleeved flannel shirt at Kirk’s way. He also did the same towards Spock and Scotty. You could see hints of a blue and a yellow uniform sticking out through the top of the tote.

“The first time you two have money and you go _shopping?”_ Kirk asked, slinging the shirts over his shoulder. 

“Jim, if you want to hang around in your dress uniform this whole time then be my guest.” McCoy scoffed back. “I had to sign a great deal of paperwork to get the money from all that stuff,” he said, taking out an envelope from the inside of his jacket and handing it to Kirk. “If we get the police on us from me having to make up contact details then it’s not my fault.” 

Kirk looked through the envelope. There was a good chunk of cash in it, held together with a money clip. 

“The man thought that I was bat-shit crazy for asking it all in cash, but I’m sure that we’re going to be set for a while at least.” 

Spock looked at the coat that he had been given. If it was to be put on an online listing it might have been described as being in a ‘kimono style.’ It was definitely a very Vulcan-ish style of clothing, like a human interpretation of one. If anything could be devised from this whole scene, it was that McCoy paid attention to their usual styles. 

“Now, if any of you three would want to go and get some food for us, that would be great.” McCoy said as he sat down on a crate. “I haven’t eaten anything since before that party.”


	4. What is a 'Shatner'?

“Has anybody ever said that you looked like a young William Shatner?”

Kirk looked back at the girl at the counter. “No? Who’s that?”

“Just some old actor, I think,” she replied. “I don’t really know who that is, my Mom was the one who said that.”

Kirk looked over her shoulder and at the older woman in the kitchen. When she saw that he was looking at her she waved, and Kirk waved back. He looked back at the unimpressed teen by the register. “Why thank you.”

“Personally,” the teen continued, “I think you look more like a sorta-chubby Chris Pine.” She seemed to hum for a moment, “My sister said we’re both wrong.”

“And, who is that?”

“Actor. He’s kinda hot.” She said though a mouthful of gum.

“Well, then, um thank you again,” he said with a partly-forced smile before walking back over to where Spock was waiting; not knowing who or what that was, and not even fully wanting to know.

Kirk and Spock had been delegated the job of picking up some takeout for the group with McCoy dealing with finding somewhere cheap to sleep. It was a long and sort of tedious conversation that ended up with Spock and Kirk just leaving it all to the doctor to sort out. _‘Vulcans don’t need sleep’_ this, _‘I’m not sharing a bed with any of ya’ll’_ that, and who knows what else.

“I’ve gotten a family pack and some vegetarian stuff for you, that should be enough for all of us.” Kirk leaned over one of the metal chairs, putting change into his plaid breast pocket. Spock had been watching a monitor-like device that had been hung on the corner of the wall near the Chinese place’s doorway. Spock had that beenie on, low to cover both his ears and eyebrows.

“It appears to be an old television,” Spock said, looking at Kirk and then back up at the screen.

Kirk took to the chair he had been resting on, still holding the order ticket. “They still had TV ‘now,’ didn’t they?”

“Yes, Captain. There is still another 23 years until it became completely phased out, going by the events currently being showcased.”

The TV in question was broadcasting an afternoon news program. It was a pretty generic local one, but still interesting to watch. You sometimes forget that people so far into the past are well, people just the same as the people that you know.

“-And for some lighter news, the city’s annual science fiction convention has started off with a bang this afternoon with crowds already gearing up for the weekend’s festivities.”

The camera panned over a large group of people, as well as cycled through static shots and close up footage of more of the same thing as the presenter talked. Footage also showcased crowds walking around and tables full of objects and prints. It changed back to people in costumes, but something stuck out greatly. They were only on the screen for a split second, but it was very, very clearly somebody with black hair in a blue science uniform doing a Vulcan salute. They looked young, but it wasn’t their face that either of them was looking at.

Both Kirk and Spock seemed to freeze before looking at each other. It was clear that both of them had seen the same thing.

“How... strange,” Kirk said in the absence of anything better to say.

“Indeed, Captain,” Spock responded, pulling his coat in closer.

* * *

Chekov began to go through the quarter filled bookshelf that was in one of the rooms. There wasn’t much in lieu of what was readable, but it was an interesting collection of lost books and fugitive library rentals from out of state, and a few from out of the country. There was also a large assortment of bibles of all sorts of prints and types sorted in height and a German copy of a hardback German copy of a Captain Underpants book that had actually been hollowed out and contained a small brick of cocaine that even if you were to find it, it wouldn’t be any good to take due to all of the mold and the fact that it wasn’t even real cocaine in the first place. Chekov didn’t pay any attention to Großangriff der schnappenden Klo Schüsseln, and wasn’t at all the first one to do so in the many years it had been there.

Instead, he moved onto where DVDs and a few VHS tapes sat on the bottom of the shelf that seemed to be dotted with the same age and history as (the majority) of the books. He had seen both formats in a museum once, both under the same pretences as temporary fads and ways to record video back when television still existed. He looked to the side at the tiny flat screen tv on the coffee table.

It seemed easy enough, it was the same as a computer chip, just with a lot less storage for either. One even used magnets.

Chekov tilted his head to the side and scanned over the titles on the spines. ‘The Full Adventures of Captain Proton,’ ‘Lisa and Amanda,’ ‘Shoot ‘em,’ ‘Horror Lake XII,’ ‘Star Trek,’ with ‘Mudd’s Women / The Enemy Within’ written in smaller print under it, ‘Poppy goes to New York,’ and ‘Naughty Chances, were just some of them that were there. I will not divulge on what was on tape or DVD, as it no effect on the story. That’s for you to decide.

Something about the ‘Star Trek’ one interested him. It sounded to be some sort of science fiction, judging by the title. He slid the tape out and looked at the cover. The tape was listed as a ‘collector’s edition’ on the top and a faded sticker with ‘Edd’s Video – 7-day rental’ printed on it. The cover itself had three women on it standing in dresses. Alright, he could get behind this.

Chekov turned the box around. The first thing that caught his eye was that one of two small photos there had a man that looked a lot like the captain. He moved the box closer and studied the picture. It absolutely was the captain. Standing next to him seemed to be Spock and besides them looked like Scotty standing to his side holding some sort of fluffy creature in his arms. He looked at the other image - some sort of middle-aged man.

Chekov blinked a couple of times. He looked to the side and then at the tape again. He skimmed over the blurb of text under the one that had his crewmates on it.

“… Transporter malfunction… **Kirk** is split into separate beings… **Spock** and **McCoy** … Kirk confronts a side of his nature no man should have… his only hope of survival… **Kirk’s** passive half… landing party is slowly freezing to death… **Vulcan** neck pinch... **McCoy** … the classic line: ‘He’s dead, **Jim.** ”

Every time a name he recognized was printed it stuck out to him like a torch in his eyes. He read over it again, and then the other blurb. More of the same sort of thing, but telling a different story. This one talked about what he assumed to be Henry Mudd, and the three women that were on the cover of the box. Both blurbs had an airdate written in red and a cast and crew list in blue under it.

Chevok had seen strange things during his time in Starfleet, but this was one of the strangest. There were no more tapes, or DVDs with the title of ‘Star Trek’ on the spine, so he was stuck with just this one.

* * *

Dr McCoy was standing on the balcony outside of the motel rooms. It wasn’t exactly a balcony since it was on the ground, just a covered area. Hell, he wasn’t even under the covered area, instead resting on the handrail and looking up at the stars that he was able to make out with all the light pollution. He heard the sound of somebody walking up to him, and gave a bit of a wave to Scotty once they saw each other.

Scotty walked up to where McCoy was and rested on the railing next to him and joined him.

“It’s Earth, alright,” McCoy said with no real purpose.

“Indeed. I never really saw you as much of an astronomer.”

“Well, I know what Earth’s northern hemisphere looks like. Spent most of my life under it.”

“Aye. It’s not the type of thing that one easily forgets about.”

“How’s the ship?” McCoy said, looking at the other man beside him.

“She’s looking fine. A little banged up, but she’ll fly fine. It was almost as if the ship was made to get stuck like it was, but with enough coaxing it all fit back into place.

“You think whatever happened was intentional? Like a weapon being used on us?”

Scotty hummed at that, “Possibly, but it would be good to actually know what happened. The scanners didn’t seem to be able to pick up much because of all that interference. I still want to go over in the morning," Scotty said, "I'm rather exhausted as it is and there's no light down there." 

"We've already booked nights, I wouldn't push yourself. Besides, if we just start flying willy-nilly now we might get shot down we might just get shot down by the native military. I just hope this just isn’t some sort of disappointing afterlife we’re in right now.” McCoy said with a vocal eye roll deep in his southern drawl.

The screen door behind them opened with a loud creak. Both turned back to have a look at it. Chekov was there, his body seemed smaller than he usually held it. “Hey, uh, you two should check this out,” he said, walking towards them.

“What’s wrong?” McCoy said after turning himself all around, still holding onto the railing.

“This,” Chekov replied, putting the VHS box before him.

“Seven-day rental?” He said, confused as to the point of this conversation. “Don’t you know what that means?”

“No - look - It’s you, Mr Spock and the Keptin,” Chekov said, turning the box the right way around and putting his finger on the thumbnail image on the back. He looked at Scotty when he had said ‘you.’

Scotty looked at the picture in question. “That looks like that little blighter from Alfa 177,” He said with his hand to his face, recognizing the creature that his printed version was holding.

McCoy moved closer to them, studying the box. “Where did you find this?” He asked, clear concern in his voice.

Chekov pointed in the general direction of where the bookshelf was. “Over there, it’s the only one like it.”

“How peculiar,” Scotty said.

“What are you three doing on the back of an old videobox?”

“Your guess is as good as mine, doctor.”

* * *

The tape itself was wound about a third to halfway-ish through and had some wear on the label, as more video rental branding was pasted all over it. Other than that, it had somehow managed to spend all of this time without getting more than a speck or two of white mold on it.

Chekov turned on both the TV and VCR and turned the first over to display the second. it was a fiddly process, but it was just wires and buttons. Nothing worse than he already knew about.

He seemed to look for reassurance. He didn’t know if he had gotten it or not, but it was enough to put the tape in and the machine. The VCR took it without issue.

It was played, the tracking bar flickering for a moment as the image of Captain Kirk came into focus. It wasn’t some sort of weird lookalike, it was absolutely him. The focus and the lighting was soft and the tape itself well-worn and artifacted with age, but there was no doubt about it.

McCoy was also there talking to him, as well as Spock. They were all on the bridge.

“-A most annoying emotional episode.” Spock’s video double said. It was an early feeling hearing him talk through the tv.

“Smack right in the old heart,” the other McCoy said with a laugh as he put his hand on his chest. A beat later he moved his hand to the side, “Oh, I'm sorry. In your case, it would be about here.”

The camera cut back to Spock. “The fact that my internal arrangement differs from yours, Doctor, pleases me to no end.” He said, voice and deadpan face dead-on from how McCoy could remember that very conversation. It had been a while since it had happened, but it was coming back to vividly now.

A Lieutenant Farrell was sitting at the console. “Course plotted and all systems in operation.” He said once there was a gap in the officer’s conversation.

A copy of Sulu was sitting next to him in his usual chair. “Engines engaged. Helm answering.” He reported.

“Out of orbit, sir.”

“Ahead, Full.” ‘Kirk’ ordered from his captain’s chair. Sulu repeated the command and did just that.

The episode ended with a fade to black, a theme song started to play with footage of the ship flying around in the background and credits in yellow text.

“Speed through this,” McCoy ordered softly, eyes fixated on the screen. Chekov did just that, pressing play again a second or two after the credits were over.

‘The Enemy Within’ began to play - if the titles on the spin were anything to go by. There was a shot of a rock-covered scene. Somehow now it seemed a lot more set-like. A cheap, indoor set, but clearly a set either way.

Then there was Sulu holding an alien. Kirk walked up to Sulu and played with the aliens’ tail for a moment before they heard the sound of somebody falling. The next shot was of a man in blue, who they could recognize as a geologist named Fisher covered in yellow dust. ‘Kirk’ ordered him to go to sickbay.

There was another shot of the Enterprise, and then of one of the transport rooms. Working at the console was Scotty and Crewman Wilson, another engineer.

The other two looked back at the real Scotty. He seemed to look both puzzled and intrigued at the same time. It was sort of a ‘is that what I look like?’ emotion if anything else. It was reacting to it better than McCoy was.

“What happened?” The televised Scotty asked the newly materialized Fisher.

“I took a flop.” Fisher admitted as he came off the transporter, brushing off the ore from one of his arms.

Wilson looked over at him. “On to what?” He asked.

“ I don't know. Some kind of yellow ore.” Fisher replied, showcasing the full extent of his geological knowledge. Fish had never really been a man of words.

The other Scotty seemed to be annoyed at what was going on around him. “Magnetic. Decontaminate that uniform.” He ordered.

“Yes, sir,” Fisher said before leaving. Scotty moved back over to the transporter controls. His communicator beeped, and Kirk’s voice came ‘through’ it from off the screen. There was more lines of dialogue before Scotty seemed to hesitate for a moment before Kirk was able to be beamed up. Kirk appeared and then stumbled down the platform, just to be caught by Scotty. Scotty was able to help him to stand, and then help him to leave the room while he was still dizzy.

“-Don't leave the transporter room unattended,” Kirk said, still catching himself.

“Wilson will be right back, sir.” Scotty assured him before the two of them left.

The room was now empty, unattended for a few moments in time where neither Scotty nor Wilson was in attendance. The camera moved to a shot of the transporter activating. Another Kirk appeared, the dramatic music, close up, and lighting that followed seemed to almost mock the situation.

“Pause it, I think we’ve seen enough,” McCoy said, Chekov did just that. The three of them remembered this day, and they knew how it all ended.

The room was quiet, the blue light of the VCR highlighted their faces.

“We should probably tell Jim and Spock about this,” McCoy said, an unfamiliar lump had found its way into his throat.

The other two didn’t respond verbally, but they definitely agreed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The tape that he finds is one that I own myself, and I pretty much went up to where all my TOS tapes (I think I’ve got like, only 10 of them, sadly) are and looked through them to find a good one for them to watch. I had better ideas as to the ep found but I wanted to be able to talk about the box itself and not have to make up what’s on them. Plus, I think finding one that doesn't seem too on the nose might be better. 
> 
> It’s easier to talk about a prop when you have it in your hand, although it’s in a much better condition in comparison to the one that I actually wrote about. 
> 
> ~~Trust me, if I had the one with Amok Time on it he would have found it for-fucking-sure.~~


	5. Attack of the 812 Foot Plot Development

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you know a (regular, 3 hour) VHS tape is around 812 feet long when unwound? That’s what Google said, anyways. 
> 
> This chapter felt a little empty as I wrote it, so sorry in advance. You would think that I wouldn’t write an entire story about this stuff if I had trouble writing it, but here I am.

There was a loud knock from the direction of the door. Chekov, McCoy, and Scotty turned their heads to see Kirk leaning into the doorway. The door was opened all the way with a creak. After a moment of everybody looking at each other as Kirk and Spock walked in. Spock was carrying a large paper bag of food in his arms, and it admittedly smelled pretty good. 

The whole motel room was dark, the cold dusk light from the door and windows only accenting the bright blue lighting coming off the old television screen. 

“Are we interrupting something? You lot look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Kirk said in slight amusement. The others didn’t seem to be able to respond with the same level of enthusiasm. 

Chekov looked up at McCoy before looking at the captain. “Keptin, you should have a look at this,” he said, giving Kirk the empty box. Kirk walked up to him, crouching down beside where Chekov was sitting and taking the box for himself. 

“An old video cassette?” Kirk asked after a moment, not yet catching onto what was going on. 

“Da.”

“And?” Kirk asked again, holding the box. What did this have to do with anything?

“Jim,” McCoy said, almost getting up to turn it around and shove the box into his face, “Look at the back. We’re on it.”

Kirk turned it around and was taken aback when he noticed it. He paused as he looked at it. “…And a little Spock, Scotty, and Mudd.” He said before looking up at the two crewmen that he had mentioned. Spock walked towards and leaned over at where Kirk was, the box being shown to him by Kirk as he did it. 

“Where did you guys get this?” Kirk asked with a squint. 

Chekov half crab-walked back to the bookshelf and pointed a hand towards the other tapes. “Just here,” He said, trying to brush of any blame that was being fed his way. “I found it all alone with these other ones, but they don’t have us on them – only zat one.” 

Kirk hummed, his tone colored by both confusion and acceptance.

“So what is this? Some old historical piece? I thought this was supposed to be the 2020s?”

“It doesn’t feel like it, its fiction of some kind.” Scotty pitched. 

Kirk squinted. “What? Of what?”

“Of _us,_ Jim. It’s of us,” said McCoy. 

“Of us? What’s that supposed to mean?” 

_“Jim,”_ McCoy replied, clearly getting frustrated. “Just watch it.” 

Spock walked over to a coffee table and put the food down. Something was telling him that they wouldn’t be eating much tonight. 

Chekov scooted back to the tv and pressed ‘play’ on the VCR. There was a shot of Kirk’s dramatically-lit face for half a moment before the opening credits began, a woman’s voice began to sing the theme. 

“Shatner,” Kirk said softly when his, and ‘Shatner’s,’ name came on the screen. He looked up at the concerned looking Chekov. “I got told that I looked like somebody by that name.”

“When?” McCoy asked.

Kirk looked back around to where the doctor was sitting. “Back when Spock and I were getting food just before. The girl behind the counter said that I did. Well, him or somebody else.”

McCoy gave him a heavy glance. “Who was the ‘somebody else?’” 

Kirk bit his lip. “Another actor. Some man named ‘Pine.’” 

You could see every muscle of McCoy’s face being pulled back as his head fell into his hand. For once in his life, it wasn’t a sigh of disappointment, but one of dread. If McCoy had been the one to narrate this fic, he might be saying something about how something like this _‘might as well have happened,’_ but he’s not. Instead, I’m the one who gets to say that _‘it might as fucking well.’_ Another actor most likely meant covering of Kirk’s academy days, or possibly another, remade, show altogether. Both sounded horrible to think about. 

The credits kept going. More crew and cast names came and went. 

Kirk’s ship log, or really his narration, began to speak over an outside shot of the Enterprise orbiting around a planet. It was a log from Star Date 1672.1, recorded around a day after the events being shown happened. 

The scene changed back to the transporter room. Wilson arrived back and saw the second Kirk. He came to his aid before the scene changed again to one of a ship corridor with Kirk and Scotty going down it. The shot changed to one of his quarters. It all looked as it should, but it was all from one angle. Rand walked in and handed him a PADD. They talked for a moment before Kirk went to rest on his bunk. 

Kirk changed his stance and looked up to where Scotty had been standing, he mirrored the expression that he had made a little bit ago. Confusion for what was going on, but not yet abject horror. “Pause,” He said as the ship’s sickbay came into view, McCoy and all. 

Kirk sat put his elbows on his knees, his body still in a squat. Both of his hands came to his mouth as he picked a rather strange position to think in. 

“We don’t know what _this_ is,” McCoy spoke over whatever question Kirk was about to ask. “But it sure as hell seems like us.”

“Indeed,” came Spock from the room’s couch. 

“Spock, you’re in this too. If you rewind the tape a little you’ll see it.”

“You do not have to convince me of my presence. If this is a recording of some kind from our ship, then a logical assumption can be drawn that I would be seen.” 

McCoy seemed to mouth ‘logical assumption’ in offence. “Any logical assumption as to what this is?” 

“Let’s keep going,” Kirk cut in. Whatever this was, it might be smart to see it all. 

The episode continued, scenes happening in more or less the same way that they had remembered them. The quality of the tape (or the raw footage, for that matter) wasn’t great, that much was certain, and that really wasn’t helping the overall vibe. The musical score also didn’t really help, either. It was dramatic and overdone, with everything having a musical cue of its own. The lighting was just as dramatic. It was a mix of it being an old and beaten tape and the 60's Star Trek show just being like that.

For the people who had _actually _been there, it was only fair that these stylistic changes stood out like an exploding shuttle. Kirk had the worst of it, as he had only foggy memories of both halves of himself.” It was little watching a playback of your own dreams from alternative angles.__

Other than the TV, the room was quiet. Everybody seemed to be transfixed with it. 

Kirk stood up and looked at the rest of the crew as if one of them was going to suddenly turn into a teleprompter with all the answers written in big friendly letters. “Who made this? And why?”

“If something is trying to torment us, it’s a strange way to do it,” McCoy mused. 

“Maybe it really is from an old television show.” Scotty suggested next. Everybody looked at him. “Well, we have encountered stranger things before. You can’t exactly try and rule it out as a possibility.” 

“-And somebody’s turned us into cheap entertainment.” Kirk seemed to scoff louder than he intended too. Look, if there was somebody in the future who wanted to novelize the Enterprise’s mission – for whatever strange reason – he might have been down to even help out, write a forward or transcript a log or two. But, something about this ‘Star Trek’ just seemed to irk him out. It was like finding out that something had been watching your every move this entire time. 

Well, they had been, hadn’t they? 

“Gentlemen, I don’t think that we’re in the past.” Kirk said as he stood up, biting onto the side of his index finger as he did so. “Well, if it is, it’s not our past.” 

“What do you mean by that?” Chekov asked, still sitting on the floor. 

“The, _vibe,_ almost,” Kirk did his best to explain, hands moving around as he said it. 

“I believe the captain is attempting to say that it wouldn’t be illogical to assume we are in an altered reality. It has happened before,” interjected Spock, sparing Kirk from answering.

Kirk remembered that well. His eyes flicker to McCoy as he flashes back. “You’re suggesting something changed,” he said, not quite a question. 

Spock nods, which stirs the others. 

“Well _I_ didn’t do anything,” McCoy grumbled. "Not this time, at least."

“I haven’t suggested so,” said Spock, looking at the screen. The episode was still playing as normal. “This tape is from long before we got here, which would suggest the alteration happened long ago,” he adds.

“Then why are we here?” asked Chekov. “How?”

“Something may have occurred back on Taltuis V during the storm. Quite possibly, the electrical interference could have somehow altered the timeline, causing something to be set back further than we were.”

“Then who created this program?” Scotty asked. 

Chekov leaned back over and rewound the tape back to the credits. He stopped it on a slide that said ‘created by Gene Roddenberry.’ 

“I don’t know of a ‘Roddenberry.’” Kirk said, reading the name. 

“Neither do I.”

“Not me.”

“Sorry, sir.” 

“I have not yet encountered any person by the name.” 

Kirk sighed. This was weird, even by his usual standards. “This _‘Roddenberry’_ person, who are they? A time-traveller? Did they go back in time to exploit our lives for cheap entertainment? An Altaki looking for profit?” 

Kirk paused for a moment, thinking. “‘Roddenberry’ doesn’t sound like an Altakin name. It sounds as Terran as mine,” he sighed in resignation.

“No offence, Jim, but I don’t think a bunch of humans from the 20th century would take all that kindly to a strange-looking alien around, much less go around give them a tv show.” 

Spock gave him a little bit of an ‘I am right here, remember?’ look, but didn’t say anything. 

“I don’t get it, it doesn’t sound all that interesting of a premise,” McCoy said, almost disappointed with how this whole situation was going. “Who would watch us just do our jobs?” 

“Well, nobody back- _now,_ have seen aliens or been in a ship that could go faster than light, if I can remember history. That could be enough,” Kirk noted. 

“Go back into the past and turn crew logs into science-fiction entertainment. I’ve got to say that I wouldn’t personally fault the idea,” Scotty mused. “Although you have to assume that it cuts out all the boring bits.” 

On the next episode of Star Trek: Dr McCoy spends 5 hours trying to track the source of a migraine before being told that the patient was ¼ Betazoid, Mr Scott spends 2 hours on his back rewriting something and the ship takes a week to get somewhere. Nothing happens in that entire week. 

“Hang on,” McCoy interjected, putting a hand up, “If this was all fictional, why do they look and sound exactly like us?”

“Wouldn’t that be the point?”

“Jim, there is no way in hell somebody would be able to get everything so perfectly recreated, especially with what the people here have access too. That other me wasn’t somebody that looked like me, it was me. He looked like me, sounded like me, he had my movements exact. The same with everybody else that we’ve seen.”

“Perhaps we are not in the past, as the captain had suggested,” Spock looked over at Kirk before receiving a nod to keep on talking. “Perhaps we could have somehow ended up in a ‘higher’ one.”

“Higher?” McCoy scoffed. “What does that supposed ta’ mean? That everybody out there is just some sort of god? Is that what you are saying?”

“Not at all, Doctor, I was just proposing the idea that we are, in fact, fictional in this reality.” 

The doctor laughed at that. Spock was not deterred. 

“Perhaps ‘Star Trek’ is as fictional to these people as a property like ‘Sherlock Holmes’ is to us. If the people of that world somehow became real in ours, I do not suppose they would take too kindly to seeing the novelizations of their existences.” 

“So,” Chekov seemed to pick his words carefully, “do you think zat is possible? Some other reality where we are just all made up?” 

“It _is_ simple multiverse theory. There has never been a recorded instance of this happening, but it could very well be.” 

“Makes me think we should have come out of the TV, then, instead of the sky.” McCoy proposed with a smile. The others kept on looking at him. “Oh, you can’t really believe that this hobgoblin has a point, do you?”

“Do you have any other ideas, Bones?”

“Look, I’m a doctor, not an exposition dump,” He said before realizing what he had said. That was his whole deal, wasn’t it? Give off some science babble whenever somebody got sick? He had been told he had a habit of explaining himself a lot, but always saw that as a normal thing for a doctor to do. “This could be anything from death to some coma induced to keep our brains active after that shuttle crashed.”

“Those options are also not above possibility, however, it may be beneficial to act on what evidence we already have before us.” 

“Oh, can it you green, pointy-eared son of a bitch.”

“My mother is a wonderful person, kindly leave her out of this.”

“Guys,” Kirk said, looking over at both of them. “Don’t fight over this.” 

“Well, I’m going to bed, you lot can figure this out on your own,” McCoy said with another soft grumble. He climbed off the bed and grabbed the key to the other room that they had booked on his way out. A few moments later he came back in, took a box of food and a pair of disposable chopsticks from the paper bag on the table, and left for real.

* * *

The other room that they had booked was partially a mirror of the other one. McCoy fell onto one of the beds before he opened the box of food and began to eat. Whatever jetlag he had was starting to kick in as his circadian rhythm told him to wake up. If he was back in his office, he could put something into himself to help fix that, but he couldn’t. Half of the food didn’t make it into his mouth, but he didn’t particularly care. 

He reached over at a remote and turned the tv on. It was in the middle of a medical drama of some kind, somebody being carted on a stretcher with fake blood pouring out of his chest. Medical babble was being shouted overdramatic music as a handheld camera cut between the same two shots. 

“We need 40cc’s of Benzitomole,” a doctor shouted over the dramatic music. it looked like his patient had been stabbed in the chest. 

McCoy laughed like a man who wouldn’t be in a similar position as the doctor in the tv show in the next 5 or so chapters, he couldn’t help it. It was like watching somebody in medieval garb say that they needed an emergency black bile letting or one of them saying that they needed some lavender oil to cure the patients measles. With all that had happened to him today, this seemed like a highlight. 

An ad for a soft drink was the last thing he remembered before being suddenly woken early the following morning.


	6. Good Morning, Jimothy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is kinda short - but in my defence, a lot of what was to be said here got moved to chapter 5 and 7.

Light. Bright. Light bad. Eyes. Go away.

The best way to transcribe this feeling would be as _‘Ugheaghh,’_ but that doesn’t do it justice. 

Kirk woke up with a slow and long dreg, the blanket that he had gone to bed with on now on the floor. His boots had been kicked off and stood with one on the bed by his leg and the other under the blanket. He hadn’t been able to sleep all night, although that was mostly because of stress and spacelag. Now the sun was shining so blindingly into his eyes that closing them made no difference. He sat up and looked at his pillow. Somehow the sun, the half-open curtains, and his pillow were all in line so perfectly that there was a single strip of sun right were his eyes sat. 

Well now, that’s fun. If the universe wanted him awake so badly then he might as well wake up. 

Kirk stretched, his mind still foggy. Looking around the motel room, it was hard to fully register that it was real. Still, he couldn’t really argue against it – he was here. Chekov was asleep on the bed next to him lying like an electrocuted starfish, and Spock was sleeping while lying pretty much upright on the couch by the door as if he had started off meditating before falling asleep. There was a clock above where Spock was sleeping, but it was stopped at 1043 on the dot. 

Kirk had spent a good deal of the night watching and rewatching that tape. Trying to catch anything new, anything that would be a clue to what was going on. There wasn’t. No hidden message, it didn’t even showcase anything of use for his situation right now, it just treated those two events like episodic trivialisation. 

He got up from the bed - that tape sitting on the floor out of its box. It gave off a bad vibe, a gut feeling that everything was just slightly wrong. Maybe because it was dawn on an altered version of Earth in the past, but the tape didn’t help too much. 

There was a small radio on the bathroom counter, and Kirk decided to turn it on as he woke himself up with a water shower. The end of an old rock song faded out as he turned on the shower, the old fashioned controls taking a while to get used to and figure out.

It was the same station that Kirk had accidentally tuned into the day before, and even the same DJ. This man’s sleep schedule must be worse than Kirk’s. “-On a more solemn note, a police report has come in from last night about a man being attacked last night with a bladed weapon.” 

Kirk stopped the water and began to listen to what was being said. 

“ – the man in question was said to be smoking outside of the Twisted Table Bar on the corner of Helen and Blur Street before being approached by another, currently unidentified individual likely brandishing a large knife or another bladed weapon. At the time of the attack, the victim was dressed up as the character ‘Captain Kirk’ – “

Kirk blinked and opened the door of the shower, pushing wet hair out of his face as the rest of the bathroom filled with steam. 

“- And had apparently been at attendance at Gala-Con the day before in the same costume. He is in a stable condition and expected to recover in full.

“The person who had attacked him has not yet been publicly identified, but the police are looking for any and all information to help apprehend them. The organizers of the convention that the victim had been in attendance to haven’t issued any statement or changes to their operation, likely due to it being so early in the day, but if any new developments do come in I will be sure to report them here.”

Kirk held onto the counter, trying to centre himself. He ripped down a motel towel and patted his face with it, as if he was trying to use it to contain a scream that was trying desperately to be let out. 

“The time is currently 5:31 am and It’s expected to storm in the late afternoon. High tide will be at 7:52, so if anybody wanted to make use of this wonderful Saturday morning then you still have time.”

* * *

“-I’m fine if I’m the one who gets hurt, but I draw the line at innocent civilians being hurt in my name,” Kirk said as he paced from wall to wall of the motel room. He still had a towel around his shoulders to dry his hair with, but was tugging on it so tightly it was a wonder that it hadn’t already decapitated him. His shirts were still splayed on his bed along with his boots. “Whatever this alien is, it’s going to attack anybody who’s in uniform, I just know it. It thought that it was attacking me, and if it’s not politically motivated then I don’t like the odds of this being some wild coincidence.”

“Jim, you can’t be so sure about all of this. You’re just drawing wild conclusions.” McCoy commented in the first gap that was given to him to speak in, the caffeine-less irritation in his voice coming through. It wasn’t that he wasn’t as worried as the captain, but the fact that it wasn’t even 0600 in the morning yet. 

“That man didn’t make the same oath that we did and wasn’t willing to take the same risks that we all agreed to when we signed up,” Kirk snapped back, clearly becoming increasingly frustrated. “He just put on a uniform from a television show that he liked for fun and games.” 

There was an uneasy vibe to the room, and there had been for quite some time. Everybody had been awoken to the stress of a man who had been told that somebody had almost succeeded in assassinating him. that didn’t really he

“We have to find that- what was it? Convention?- where this is all going down,” Kirk said, looking at the others. “It’s our best bet to try and contain the situation before more people get hurt.” 

“A logical course of action,” Spock commented. 

McCoy looked at Kirk. “What is going down at the what?” He said blankly. 

Kirk looked back as he realized that he hadn’t actually told the others about what he had seen on tv. “Spock and I saw this news broadcast when we were getting dinner.” he began to explain, “some sort of old-style convention with a science fiction theme, I think.”

Spock spoke next. “We also observed a brief appearance of a young person in a Starfleet science uniform during the promotion. From what we currently know, there is 87.54% chance they may have been dressed as ‘me’ in the same manner as the victim in the news report that the captain heard.” 

McCoy grumbled something under his breath. 

“Well, there sure are worse ways to be talked about.” Scotty commented, leaning on the wall near a bookshelf. 

Kirk stopped his pacing. “I think that there is a reason that we’ve ended up here and now. We need to go and find out why.”

* * *

The ‘office’ part of the compound didn’t open early, but Kirk was the first there, waiting by the curb before it for an employee to show up so he could give the room keys back. When one arrived he practically follower her in like a lost puppy. 

The employee didn’t seem too happy about this, but she was used to a varying level of crazy. 

Kirk came up the counter and put his hands on it. The edge was too tall for him to put his elbows onto, so he just sort of looked a little silly. And short. 

“Can I help you, sir?” the desk clerk said, turning her computer on. 

“Ah, yes. Well, uh, do you know where-“ Kirk was stumbling over his words. This wasn’t like him to do this, but here he was. 

The lady at the desk raised a single eyebrow. Christ, it was like trying to explain a dream to Spock.

Kirk exhaled. “We’ll be heading towards a convention centre, there is a show on there, and it’s just in the city, right? Easy to get too?” 

In two weeks’ time the lady at the desk would be talking to a friend of her, whose mother runs the Chinese takeout place a few blocks away, about nothing in particular and then about this man – and the rest of the people in the group – and realise that they both encountered the same group of people. They would talk about them for a little bit before going back to the prior conversation. She had been so desensitised to crazy people already that in this moment she didn’t even care what was going on here, just wanting him to get to the point and leave. 

She looked back at her monitor’s screen. A cursor blinked at her as it waited for the next check in to arrive. “I could print you a map of the area it’s in, if that helps,” She said, looking back at Kirk. 

Kirk blinked back. “Oh, yes. Maps. Paper maps. On paper. That would be excellent.” 

Great going there, Jim. 

The desk clerk pressed a few buttons and the loud printer clinked to life. Neither person spoke during the time that it took to print. Once it was done, she picked up the paper, folded it in half, and handed it to Kirk. 

“Do you want the bus timetables, too? I think the 304 gets pretty close.”

Kirk looked back at her slightly sheepishly. He didn’t think he was that easy to read, but he guessed that he was. “Yes thank-you, if that’s not too much.” 

She typed some more on the keyboard, her enthusiasm for the situation didn’t rise at all from ‘asked to babysit the kids of a workmate that you hate’ as she gave him the printed google maps rout. “This might help.” 

“Thank you,” Kirk was able to thank, not knowing how much to smile. She certainly didn’t reciprocate any of it. Kirk took the printout and dug the room keys out of his pocket and handed it to her. 

“And, here’s a little word of advice. If you’re going to have to check in late in the future most people would appreciate a call or email in advance rather than having somebody walk up at the same time that I have the key in the doorway locking it all.” She advised, eyes burning deep into Kirk as she took the keys off him and dropped them in a bowl behind the counter with a loud clang. 

“Yes sir,” Kirk replied with his mouth closed in a very soft ‘oh no’ sort of emotion. “I’ll keep that in mind.”


	7. The Breakfast Diner Scene

Kirk studied at the plastic menu in his hand, not even needing it anymore since he had already ordered food for everybody. It was something to look at if nothing else - something to keep him grounded. There was something high-class about ordering from a list for another person to then go and make for you, despite what the establishment was actually like in reality. 

The trip into the city was a two-bus execution, and by the time they got off the first bus everybody was in the ‘I don’t really need to eat, but if I do I’m going to be happy that I did’ level of hunger. Nurse Chapel would call this _‘Dr McCoy at 0237 on his third shift of the day as he uses a coffee to keep himself awake’_ hunger. 

There was a chime of the door as McCoy walked in, his hands in the pocket of his sweater as he looked over for the rest of his crew. He saw Kirk over in a booth and joined him after being waved over. Kirk and Spock were in a booth together with the other side of it free for McCoy, and Chekov and Scotty were in the one behind them. 

McCoy had gone and sold more of the gold at another pawnbroker a few doors down and had met up with the rest of his party at the breakfast diner that they were all eating at. We went over to where Kirk was sitting while waiting for his food to arrive. He said hi to the captain, but it was clear that he wasn’t in the cheeriest of morning moods. 

“Trust me, Jim, we’re all set,” McCoy said, hands on the table before slunking down into it. His sweater got pulled up over his head as it happened, making him look quite undignified. “We’ve got the money to last us for a while, and we’re all still kicking fine.” He then dug into his pocket and fished out a small action figure and handed it to Spock. “And look at this, it’s the best goddamn dollar that I will ever spend,” he said as he did it. 

Spock looked at the toy, and Kirk leaned to his side to get a look for himself. It was a little action figure of Spock. Spock took the figure and began to study it, it fit nicely into your hand and was a tiny bit poseable. 

Kirk wanted to lecture, to tell McCoy off for buying such a pointless thing and for being distracted from the mission at hand, but he hoped that his disappointed Kirk look™ (usually reserved for Tribbles and/or Klingons) would have been enough to convey his point across. Spock just kept on staring at the mini him. It had a tiny plastic tricorder and everything. The body, boots and hair was plastic, and the uniform was fabric. He mirrored the expression that the toy was making before giving it Chekov who was leaning over the back of the booth. 

Chekov looked at the toy for a little bit, and then gave it to Kirk who was waiting with his hand out to take it off him. The toy somehow found its way into Kirk’s breast pocket with its mildly dissamused face watching the scene unfold from its pocket prison. 

A woman in a striped uniform came up to their table with drinks on a tray. “One vegiburger and two normal one, one with double bacon,” she said as she gave the food to them. Kirk put his hand up when she said ‘extra bacon’ to show that it was for him. 

“I’ll get the other two now,” she said with a smile before walking back to the kitchen, picking up empty plates on her way back. 

McCoy looked at the food that was before him with a sceptical eye. 

“What? What’s wrong?” Kirk asked, noticing the look,half a sausage in his face. 

“Food of this age was horrible for the body, you should be careful.” 

Kirk scoffed. “Oh don’t bring that diet up now, Bones. We have other things to care about. You didn’t seem to care about that last night.” 

“You didn’t need a distraction last night,” McCoy replied as he picked up some tater tots. 

Kirk put his food back onto the plate with a sigh. 

“Talk to me, Jim. I think you need it.” 

“It’s just been a busy last 24 hours, that’s all.” 

“Tell me about it,” McCoy replied as he ate some of his. Their drinks then arrived – coffee for each of them. Kirk’s had milk and sugar. 

Kirk fell further into his chair in a mild sulk. “We’ve got nothing that can help us, no Federation and no modern kit. It’s not like I can just walk up to the local police and say,” Kirk put on his best ‘prenstor’ voice, but it changed his normal speaking one so little that no one could even notice, “Hello, I’m Captain Kirk from the television show. There is an alien going around trying to kill people, who is also from the television show and it’s our job to deal with it. Please step aside.” He stopped doing the voice, “They’re going to think that I’m crazy.” 

“People already do,” McCoy said. 

Kirk poked his food again. McCoy expected a playful ‘thanks’ from him, but didn’t get it. “What I can’t figure out is _why_ this is all going down. Is it some kind of scare tactic towards us?” Kirk asked, “Something about this doesn’t make sense, and I can’t work it out. It’s like I’ve somehow missed the bit in a book where they explain the plot.” 

“Or television show,” McCoy pointed out. “You can’t even say that they want to use tech from this era, it’s nothing compared to what Federation or the Altaki already have,” McCoy replied with a tisk. 

_“Exactly,”_ said Kirk, happy that his points didn’t even have to be made. “Unless somebody wanted to go up to some writer and get them to change how this allegiance is going.” He looked back at McCoy. “Wait a minute, Bones, will changing our ‘past’ here change our present? Am I making any sense?”

“By the age and condition of that magnetic tape alone, it can be assumed that ‘Star Trek’ was a product of a long time ago.” Said Spock, wiping a bit of lettuce off the side of his mouth. “Unless another series in the same cannon is in production, it would not be possible to make an effect.” 

“For once, that hobgoblin’s got a good point,” McCoy admitted. “But, tryin’na kill a guy won’t get you into anybody’s good books, even more if you want to walk up to somebody with a script.” 

“Try’na kill me,” Kirk grumbled into a drink. “They might also try and do the same to another actor or two. It just feels like I’m missing something, and whatever it is it’s going to burst through the wall at any moment with a weapon and stab me in the chest.”

Spock looked at him, wondering if he was thinking of the news report that he had heard. 

“I haven’t slept,” Kirk said in response with a very McCoy-like grumble. 

“My bets are on that whatever happened last night was somebody trying to get rid of you, not some old actor.” 

Kirk signed. “That means that the rest of you are also at equal risk.”

* * *

“What’s a ‘weef?’”

Scotty looked up at him. “A what?” He asked, swallowing a mouthful of an English breakfast. 

“A _‘weef,’”_ Chekov asked, pointing his fork to a poster next to him that had ‘Free Wifi’ on it.

“Ah, it’s _‘why-fy.’”_ Scotty corrected. 

Chekov kept on looking at him. “What is that?”

Scotty thought for a moment. “You know how all the PADDs on the ship are interconnected with the rest of the ship computers?”

Chekov nodded. 

“Well, think that but on a global scale. It got phased out not long after it got popular from all the radiation that it gave off – made people go quite loopy.”

Chekov’s face didn’t change. 

“Oh now, don’t worry lad,” Scotty explained. “That’s only after quite a while of exposure, and it’s no worse than what we’ve already experienced being in space or a transporter. A day or two with it around ya isn’t going to do anything.”

Chekov hoped he was right as he stuffed a whole pancake in his face.

* * *

There was another ring of a door-mounted bell as a small group of people walked in. The three people were dressed all in black jumpsuits, with the exception of their shoulders. They had either yellow or red to cap it off, and it could be assumed that there is also a blue variant. 

If this was an illustrated or another visual medium, the character of Paris, Torres, and Tuvok from Star Trek Voyager would be the best visual reference used. IE: yeah, it was cosplayers of them. Of course, our heroes would have no reason to even know that, or have any conception of the universe of the late 24th century. The Torres had makeup on her forehead to mimic Klingon forehead ridges. 

Kirk leaned over to get a better look, but that was hard to go without looking like he was watching them. The three of them didn’t seem to notice him as they were attended to by the same lady who had served them. 

He got a Starfleet vibe from the three of them. “That’s a little out of our time, don’t you think?” Kirk asked as he looked back at Spock, who was also looking at the cosplayers.

“Indeed, Captain. It appears that the design on their badges on their chests look the same as the Enterprise insignia.” 

“A future enterprise crew?” 

“Quite possibly.” 

Kirk huffed a bit of hair out of his face. 

“It would make for a likely assumption that ‘Star Trek’ may have other subsidiaries set after the records of our mission,” Spock suggested. “If it was set in our future, it would allow people to update aspects of the series with their own advancing technologies.” Move aside random blinking lights, screens have come back into fashion. 

“Spock, please stop talking about real life like that,” McCoy said, his coffee finished. “This is weird enough without you of all people going along with it.” 

“Spock,” Kirk asked, trying not to be heard by the cosplayers, “So you think they could be dressed as some crew from a ‘Star Trek’ program that’s being made right now? TV is still being produced, after all.” 

“A logical assumption. I believe that it will benefit from us asking them directly for information. It may also confirm that theory of another ‘Star Trek’ series in production.”

McCoy gave him a glare. “What? Just walk up to them?”

“Precisely.”

“No, no,” McCoy scoffed. “We can’t go about drawin’ attention like that. We’re dead ringers for, ourselves.” Saying ‘ourselves’ was partially an out of body experience for the doctor. “I don’t want to get swamped by people thinking that I’m an actor or some fanatic.” 

“You’ve got a point, and we should find out what they’re dressed for sooner or later. Let’s keep going,” Kirk said as he finished his food.


	8. Rolling Hills Scifi Convention

Outside was overcast. An umbrella or two could be seen, but none were in use. That was mostly due to the fact that most of the people they could see around were dressed in varying levels of costuming and generally none of those costumes had an umbrella as part of it. The next few chapters do not take place outside, but instead of the inside of a large, aggressively 2000’s-looking convention centre. The place was part of a buss depo and was beside a river across from the city. 

The gang went through a weapons’ check fine, and with no metal to remove or large props on them to be checked over it was a fast process. They didn’t know it at the time, but the security had been buffed up since the events of the last evening. A statement had been issued online, but our heroes simply haven’t had the chance to find this out. 

Next was the lines to get into the centre, and at the end of each were employees of the centres scanning everybody’s tickets. There were ticket pricing signs on the wall, and a pretty passive-aggressive note above it all saying that it was cheaper and easier to buy tickets online. 

McCoy sighed, arms crossing. “How the hell did people even survive in money-based civilizations?” 

“They did not,” Spock commented. 

“We’re still going to have to pay to get in.”

“We have the money,” Kirk commented as he half reached for the cash envelope that he had on him. 

“Yes, but not that much,” McCoy replied, leering at the on-day entry prices. “I’ve got this,” he said as he led the group to one of the shorter lines. 

It took them a while to get to the front. The worker before them had something that looked like a very thin PADD – possibly one of the old, wi-fi-capable predecessors. The tablet was in a case with one of his hands under a strap to help hold it. 

He greeted McCoy and asked to see his pass. McCoy greeted back and patted his jacket pocket, and then dug into the fabric tote that he had gotten from the thrift store looking for something. He looked back at the worker and then fished around his jacket again. 

“Scotty, the passes.” He gushed to Scotty next to him. 

“I don’t have them,” Scotty replied. 

“What do you mean you don’t have them? That was your job!”

It only took half a second for Scotty to realise what was happening, “Hey – hey, no it wasn’t.”

McCoy scoffed, hard. “Oh really now?”

“Yeah!” 

McCoy rolled his eyes and brought his hand to his forehead. “Look. I’m not driving another hour and a half back and forth to your house because you can’t keep some bits of paper on you.”

“Oi matie, I was rushed out the door!” 

“I asked you several times before we left if you had them! You patted your pockets and everything!”

“Hey! You couldn’t even keep your own ticket on you! You just had to get us to keep them all together so they were together. You can’t blame this all on me.”

“You had ONE darn job!” 

“Well, ‘Doctor Perfect,’ I’ll keep that in mind next time.”

“Next time?” McCoy almost roared, getting further and further into the part, “Why in god’s name did I even agree to this _first_ time?”

 _“Sirs,”_ The worker said, arms out to try and stop this from breaking out into a full-on fight. “What was the email the tickets were bought with? I can check you in with that.”

McCoy gave Scotty another glare. “You bought the tickets at the front last week, didn’t you? With cash?” 

“I was in the area for work! Is using cash a crime in this day and age?” Scotty attempted to explain. 

“OH! Ain’t that convenient!” McCoy threw his hands up. “Who needs a receipt? Just print it on paper and keep it with the tickets!” 

Kirk went up to them, his hands on each of their shoulders so he was in the middle. “Look, it’s okay. We have the money.” He reiterated. 

“Enough to bloody pay for tickets again? I don’t have that sort of thing on hand!” McCoy hissed. 

“Well, we might just have to,” Kirk reminded. “Unless you want to go and do something else today.”

“Guys – look – Listen,” the worker said, putting down his tablet. “These things happen, I can give you tags.”

Kirk looked back at him. “What? Really? Because we-“

The worker fished around for some laments. “Was it just the day pass?” he seemed stressed, not being the type to know a lot about what to do if patrons start fighting before you. 

“Yes, yes they were.”

He handed the few over. “Just be careful next time, okay? If you take photos of the barcodes we can still give you passes. Most people here don't even use the printed tickets if they have a barcode they can scan.” 

“Thank you,” Kirk said, not fully believing what had just happened. “And yes – definitely. We will make sure to do that in the future.” 

Funny enough, Kirk doesn’t know what a barcode was. Although, it did seem important.

* * *

The five of them made their way into the convention centre, making sure to get far enough in from the entrance that nobody working there might stop them. Kirk’s walk ended up a backwards jog, looking back at a smiling McCoy. 

“Oh now, don’t act like I didn’t have a life before Starfleet,” McCoy said with a smug, yet well-deserved smile. “We’re on Federation work, anyways. That should have been a pass enough.” 

“I'll drink to that,” Scotty said, matching the tone of voice. 

If Spock was a human, he might have commented something along the lines of ‘you people are insane,’ but he didn’t. A lot of the time he was pretty close to saying it, it seemed to be a constant in his life. 

Kirk handed out the lanyards to everybody once they were in. He paused and looked back at the worker, already scanning in more people. 

“You seem confused, Captain,” Spock commented, putting the one he was handed to him around his neck.

“He only gave us four, I don’t have one.” 

“Maybe the younger ones don’t need one? Could have easily thought that Chekov was a student.” McCoy suggested, looking over at Chekov. Chekov had the lanyard half around his head when McCoy spoke before giving it back to to the Captain. 

Kirk watched the worker scan in a family with small children. “No, that’s not it.” 

“Eh, whatever,” McCoy said as he took one of the lanyards. “Nobody even has them on display, anyways.” On them was a photo of some kind of old robot, but nobody in the party could recognize what it was. At least, they thought it was a robot. McCoy put his hands together, making a clap as he did it. “So! Anybody got any bright ideas as to what to do next?” 

“Finding out what’s going on today might help,” Scotty pitched. 

“Yes, my sentiments exactly,” Kirk commented. “Or see what we can find about if there is anything ‘Star Trek’ related going on.” 

“Maybe we should have done that before we arrived?” Chekov said. However they might have been able to do that was beyond him. 

Kirk seemed to pause. “You’re right, actually.” He said quietly. 

McCoy looked back at him. “We have the time, it’s a developing case.” 

“Klingons.” Scotty’s voice said, cutting the conversation there and then.

Kirk blinked and looked back at Scotty, _“What?”_

Scotty grabbed Kirk’s arm and pointed to a group of two young Klingon women. “There.” He whispered, trying not to get their attention. At least, they looked like Klingons to you and me, but they had much father pronounced ridges than any of our heroes we're used to. Kirk and company were used to what I like to refer to as ‘the smooth Klingons,’ but these were not smooth Klingons. I mean, they still knew what a Klingon, smooth or not, looked like, but seeing TNG era-styled ones took them a moment to connect the dots. 

“Are they, _real?_ Why would a Klingon be here?” 

“Well, they’re there,” McCoy said, joining the impromptu huddle. 

Kirk looked back at the doctor. “Yes, I can see that Bones. You know what I mean.”

“Maybe we should ask them?” Scotty suggested. The others looked at him. “Well, it couldn’t hurt. They could be in the same predicament as us.” Plus, there the place had a good amount of security, so it didn’t seem likely any reasonable Klingon would make a scene and get away with it. There is little honour in being arrested for taking a bat'leth to somebody’s chest for asking directions. 

For the purpose of making everything easier on all of us, I’ll make it known that they’re holding smartphones and while the others were wondering if there were somehow ‘real’ Klingons they were both on their phones working out where to meet friends that they had planned to meet at the con. You know that they are phones, I know that, but the Star Trek crew might not know that right away. Somebody from the 2030s isn’t going to necessarily able to tell what a Betamax player is; that’s the same with all sorts of old technologies, such as the mobile phone. 

“Excuse me, Captain,” Spock said as he took off his beanie, giving it to Chekov for no other reason from that he was the one closeted to him. He also took off his coat, his blue dress uniform underneath. Chekov also received the coat. Without saying anything else Spock then simply walked over to the two Klingons.

He got their attention, and when they noticed him they took their eyes off their phones and seemed to be excited to do so. McCoy and Kirk looked at each other, but neither had anything worthwhile to say. They kept on watching Spock for a good ten minutes or so of them talking. At one point the three of them huddled together (to a reasonable extent, even Klingons respect personal space) and one took a photo of them all with her phone turned around. 

That, dear reader, is called a ‘selfie,’ and during when this story is being set it had not yet been outlawed on Earth. 

When the interaction was over the two Klingons waved him goodbye and walked to another area of the convention. Spock walked back to the group, hands behind his back. it’s not that hard to pick out a smug smile on a Vulcan, and Spock’s smug smile was an easy one to read. 

“What happened?” Kirk asked, almost bringing himself up to hold and reassure both Spock and himself. 

“The two young ladies made their costumes themselves,” Spock began to retell what they had told him. 

“Made?” Scotty asked, taking another look at the two before they turned a corner.

“Indeed,” Spock replied, “they had bought the pattern for the uniform ‘on-line’ and largely used faux leather for their uniforms. They also complimented me on my own ‘costume,’ and that my likeness to a Mr. ‘Leonard Nimoy’ was rather impressive.”

Kirk put his hand around his chin, either in concern or admiration. “And?”

“I told them It only seemed logical to use that aspect to my advantage and come as somebody that he once played,” Spock responded. The Klingon cosplayers had seemed to giggle at the way he had told them that, being entertained at him being able to stay in character so well. “It appears that our likeness to,” Spock paused like a buffering computer for a short moment, “ourselves, may of an advantage - as previously discussed.”

“Spock, that’s brilliant,” Kirk said sounding impressed. “We’ll blend right in with our uniforms on full display.” 

“If that is the intended goal, yes,” Spock replied. “But if I am correct, then that may draw attention from people who find joy in sharing these costumes with others and they may approach you. I’ve been seeing it happen to others as we’ve been walking around the complex.” 

Kirk fixed up the collar of his shirt. “I’ll keep that in mind,” He replied. McCoy just rolled his eyes. What was their conversation like, an hour ago? To not do this? Why did he even bother with this lot. 

“I was able to receive this,” Spock said as he took his hand out from behind his back and held out a paper pamphlet, “It shows information and times of certain events and performances that are happening through the festivities.” 

(Future) Ambassador Spock, everybody. Where would they be without him around?

Kirk took the pamphlet and skimmed it over. “Anybody know what a ‘Picard’ is?” He asked the group. 

Everybody either shook their head or shrugged. Kirk got the feeling that this was going to be more work than it was worth.

* * *

The gang kept on moving. Down an escalator, past a small food court, and past a lot of cosplayers. Once or twice Spock had noticed that he was being recognized, but hadn’t yet been stopped for another photo. At one point Kirk just stopped in his place, holding onto Spock’s arm as he stopped. 

“They’re gone,” Kirk said. 

“Pardon?” Spock asked, looking to face him.

Kirk moved his hands around, not letting go of Spock. “My crew.”

Spock rose an eyebrow and looked around. “It would appear so.”

Kirk put on of his spare hand through his hair, wondering if he should be worried or not. 

“In two parties we will be able to cover more of the convention.” Spock reminded him. 

“Yes, you’re right,” Kirk replied as he kept on walking. They would just have to keep an extra eye out for the others.

* * *

If you were wondering where Chekov was right now, he had somehow autopiloted while being at the back of the gaggle and had already ended up at the merch tables. he had Spock’s coat around his waist (it wasn’t cold enough to him to need it around him, but it still had it with him) and the alien-themed beanie on his head. 

Before him was a table of fancy swords and other such weapons. It was mostly stuff replicated from different anime, as well as a few video games. Naturally, he didn’t recognize most of the stuff that was on display, besides maybe a phazer or two. Chekov began to think about Sulu’s collection. Sulu liked to collect old weapons like these, he even used some of them in his free time while doing fencing practice during his recroom time with a few of the other crew who also knew how to do it. He was usually the person who often was given the ceremonial swords that Kirk was offered during events. The CMO didn’t want to deal with ‘another aftermath of Jim with a ‘Y’hak,’ or something along that line.

“You there! Stop!” A man’s voice called out. Chekov stopped and looked towards the direction of the voice. There was a man with a tablet of his own in a black fabric case half strapped to his hand, and the free one was pointed towards Chekov. He looked like somebody who might have been forced to be a temporary manager of a busy Kookyburger years ago and hadn’t been able to leave the building in all that whole time.

“I knew you’d come back after your little tantrum yesterday.”

Chekov gave him a confused look.

The man walked in closer. “Some brunet newbie who thought they were too good for us, huh?”

“I’m sorry?” Chekov asked. 

“The uniform. Have you come to return it or come back to work?” 

Chekov looked down at the jersey that he had on and then around at the rest of the people in the area. A few of whom by the doors or handling equipment had the same shirt as he did, although most others with lanyards of varying kinds. He hadn’t even noticed that until it was pointed out to him.

Perhaps that was why he wasn’t given a lanyard while in, he didn’t even need it.

“Sir, I’m not-“

“I’m not taking any excuses.” The man barked back, the grunt of his voice being easy to hear.

“I don’t-“

“Git.”

Chekov blinked before putting down the knife.

The man exhaled. “They need somebody in the roof of D4. Electrical problems, do you know anything about that stuff?”

“Yis sir, quite a bit.” Chekov said as he accepted his fate.

“Good, c’mon.” the man said before going towards the stage labelled just that. “We’re starting to run behind schedule as it is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Actually plot is going to happen next chap - featuring an existential crisis and villain-of-the-week-caused bad cable management.


	9. Discovery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have not actually seen Discovery at the time of me posting - I hope it doesn't show.

A good thing about most conventions is that for the bigger ones they are great places to revel new shows and movies, and subsequent additions to others. Panels are also a thing, where actors, or even sometimes cosplayers, are able to present and answer questions about their chosen topic. If the people on the panel are big enough their presence might be used as an advertisement for the conventions that they’re going too. 

Since I have the power to do what I want in this story, let’s have it be that at this particular convention there is a star or two from current Star Trek productions around.

Kirk and Spock looked through the doors, a q-and-a of some kind was going on. Some actors in casual clothing were on a stage with a corded mic in hand. One of them looked quite old, and the other was a younger woman who laughed at one of the questions that she was asked. 

“Recognize anybody, Mr Spock?” 

“No, Captain,” Spock replied. He was telling the truth, and was disappointed in that. Not that Vulcans got all that disappointed, but he sure hoped that he could do more than walk around hopelessly. Besides, even if he could, they were too far away – Vulcan eyes or not – to determine all that much. 

Kirk sighed and walked away, Spock following. Kirk had seen something to do with ‘Star Trek’ going on here and now on the event timetable, but getting his hopes up didn’t do much. Not that he even really had a plan aside from listening in and seeing what he could discover. “So ‘Picard’ doesn’t look too useful.” He took out the pamphlet again, “I wish I knew what ‘Discovery’ was - that might help.”

Spock stopped. “Discovery?” 

“Uh-uh. It has that as a subtitle. Says that the people coming for some autograph signings tomorrow are in it.” Kirk looked up at Spock. “Ring any bells for you, Mr Spock?”

“I am… aware of a ship by that name.”

Kirk piped up a little bit. “Oh?” 

“But,” Spock bit his lip, “it has been some time since I last encountered it.” 

The pair walked a few more paces before Spock saw a poster with a few people in uniform. It was a uniform that people didn’t use anymore, but he could recognize it as being a Starfleet one. Kirk seemed to light up at that as he almost skipped towards it. “Spock! That’s you!”

“Yes. Yes it is.” Spock said, seemingly having trouble to say it. The ‘Spock’ on the poster was younger than the Spock who was looking at it, but it was Spock alright. 

Spock’s movements began to stiffen up, much more than they usually were. The full extent of what was going on was starting to sink into him. Was that why his life had been like it had been? Everything that he had been through, the bullying that he had undergone as a child, the constant tension with his father, even his biological problems, was that just some extra drama and entertainment for these people? 

All the stuff to do with his sister, was that was this ‘Discovery’ was following? Was it just backstory? Nothing more than entrainment? An expression to use might be ‘on the verge of some kind of breakdown,’ but Vulcan’s don’t do that. 

Actually, what am I saying? The Vulcan ideology is as stable as a Jenga table with the bottom 8 rows all being singles from the edges with a running semi-truck being put on the top via the back left wheel while in the middle of a shaky divorce. There is no way it should be standing as strongly as it is but it just, is. 

Thankfully for Spock, he was only half Vulcan. He’s allowed at least a tiny little one, it’s only human nature.

Kirk could see that Spock didn’t seem too happy with what he was seeing. “You look good, young, but still good.” Kirk looked back at the printed Spock and then back at the pamphlet, actually reading the smaller text that time. “Says here that his name is ‘Ethan Peck.’” He looked back at the real Spock with a smile. He didn’t really look like an ‘Ethan,’ but this Peck man must look a lot like Spock with the right makeup. 

This wasn’t helping Spock all that much. 

Kirk looked back at the poster, there was a short-haired woman in the same old uniform who took up the bulk of the poster. It was a lady named ‘Martin-Green,’ playing another named ‘Burnham;’ a name that he had never heard before. Kirk felt that he might have seen her in passing, like in a photo or something, but he couldn’t remember where. 

“Was she somebody important?” Kirk asked softly, hoping that was the problem. He wanted to hold him, or at least his shoulders like he usually held people, but he knew how Vulcans felt about that sort of thing. Kirk was a hugger, and Spock looked like he needed one. 

Spock seemed to need a moment to respond. “A former crewmate,” He replied, adverting the question. 

Kirk concluded that it wasn’t something worth asking about. He put his hand on Spock’s shoulder, giving him something to centre himself on. “Are you alright?” He asked softly, almost pulling the two of them to the wall so they could sit down if needed. 

Spock looked back and almost pulled the hand off him. “I am fine, Captain,” Spock lied. Well, not really lied, but he could feel a hell of a lot better. 

Kirk kept on talking, trying to get back on topic. Spock was allowed to have hangups and personal history, and Kirk wasn’t going to pry it out of him. “If this ‘Peck’ man is supportively playing a younger you, then that ‘Pine’ we’ve heard about must be playing a younger me alongside you.”

“A logical assumption, Captain, but we did not meet until you began to command the Enterprise.” 

Kirk looked back up at Spock. “Hey, I’m trying my best here.”

“I know.” 

“Anyways,” Kirk said with an exhale, “Do you think that whoever is behind all of this is going to go after the people behind ‘Discovery?’ Maybe the writers? If there are any here, that is.”

“It would depend on how the two productions correspond to one another, but the theory, for lack of any other, does seem sound.”

“Productions?” 

_“’Discovery.’”_ Spock said, assuming correctly that ‘Discovery’ was the name of this practical spin-off. “I presume that it is a prequel.” 

“Yes, yes, good point,” Kirk said, watching an Androian cosplayer in blue body paint and a cheap wig walk past, “we should still keep an eye on all these people, they might be in danger.” 

“That is a logical precaution to make.” Spock said. 

Kirk seemed to think for a moment. “Spock, did you ever go to Taltuis V when you were younger? This could all be figured out with a bit of time-travel.” 

“No, Captain. The first time that I was there was with you a month ago during the Gala delegations.” 

“Right, right,” Kirk replied, still thinking. “Well, ships are big, there are a lot of people you can follow for a story or two. Just get them involved with some Taltuisian politics in the past and by the time _we_ get back it’s all different.”

“That is assuming that is all that all they wish to do," Spock said.

“What do you mean?”

“If what is written and produced here can affect what happens or what is true for our version of reality, then the people who are behind the production of each series have a great deal of power over us. They could change fundamentals of who we are or what had happened in our past, or, perhaps, even create another timeline all together if they wished to do so.” 

“Let’s hope it doesn’t get that bad, I want to be able to get back home.” Kirk said in a very ‘Woah there, lighten up a little’ tone as the two of them began to walk to find the rest of the crew. 

For the second time in the last twenty minutes, Spock seemed to space out as he processed what he had just said. It would seem that the most logical course of action for him to make now would be to get far, far away from this place and never bring it up again. He didn’t need this, not now, not ever. 

Kirk could see that Spock was starting to zone out – quite a rare occurrence. “Hey. Consider this all just historical fiction - like when you watch a recroom recreation of a historical event. I don’t think any of this is all that different from that.” Kirk assured both of them. “We’re simply seeing how people on the outside might react to us in the future.” 

“Possibly, although I do not know if being an alien science officer is the best that I would like to be known for.” 

“Hey, you’re still young,” Kirk replied with a smile. “And the uniforms we keep seeing on everybody, they’re nothing more than dressing up for a visit to a historical program in period-appropriate costuming so you can join and blend in.”

“Yes,” Spock replied, “I suppose that it is not all that different.” 

Kirk almost went in for an affectionate slap on Spock’s arm, but stopped himself. “Now you’re getting it. And think about it, right now we’re completely invisible. We could walk up to somebody and call ourselves ‘Captain Kirk and Commander Spock’ and they would be completely behind us and probably ask for a photograph or two." Kirk stoped. "Am I getting too into this?”

“Very likely,” Spock replied, but it was helping. 

Kirk looked at the pamphlet again. “Hey, if you want Ethan Peck to sign something, he’s doing it later tomorrow.” 

“Absolutely not, thank you.” 

Kirk couldn’t help but smile at that response.

* * *

Somewhere else in the convention centre, Chekov was dealing with his own little adventure. He was also standing on a ladder, trying his best to work out what was wrong with the overhead lights above a stage that was supposed to be having a cosplay contest and showcase going on in half an hour. 

There was also a (real) worker holding onto the base of the ladder. He was ginger, if that means anything to the story. 

The hole in the ceiling that Chekov was working in was dark, much too dark to work in. He looked down at the other person and asked if he had a torch. 

“Just use your phone,” the worker replied, seemingly annoyed that he was even asked.

Chekov paused and looked back up. He didn’t have a ‘phone,’ and wasn’t about to ask for one. He put his weight on a support beam and tried his best to study the inside of the ceiling with what little he had on him. His eyes lead towards that of something large that was curled up on a support beam. It looked like it could have been a huge bag of insulation, but Chekov’s gut was telling him that it wasn’t. It was far too big to be up here like that all alone. 

Chekov coughed into his hand, the dust of the ceiling was getting to him. The ‘insulation’ shifted ever so slightly, the support making a creak as it happened. He froze, holding his breath as he tried to find the source of the creak. 

From the far end of the bag, a large, slender head swirled around like a crane’s. The long muzzle lined with long, thin teeth jutting out from the sides. Its eyes were on the side of the head and the whole animal was covered in a thick, leathery skin. It was too dark to make out any other details, and it was too curled up to make out any other body parts. This changed nothing. 

It just sort of, looked at Chekov, neither party moving. It blinked, eyes parting vertically, and tilted it’s head to the side. Chekov slowly climbed a few runs down and looked back at his ‘coworker,’ not saying anything to the, uh, whatever it was that had seen him. 

“Can you see the problem?” The worker said. 

Chekov bit his lip. “No, not quite.” He lied. It didn’t feel like telling the truth would be a good thing to do right now. 

He slid all the way down the ladder, landing softly on the ground next to the centre employee. The Enterprise had a lot of long ladders all around, and he was already well versed at making good time on them. 

By the time he was down the man from earlier had joined them, clearly wanting a status report. “Anything to report?” He asked. 

Chekov bit down on his teeth, grinding them back together as he thought of something to say. Chekov seemed to space out for a second. It was like he was losing his mem- his memory. What? What just happened? 

The man just looked back at him, crossing his arms. “This is the bit where you talk back to me, tell me the things that I want to hear.” 

Chekov nodded. He did not have anything that this man wanted to hear right now. “It, uh-” Chekov looked back up at the open hatch. 

An eye was peeking out from it, and it wasn’t a small one. It was watching, carefully calculating if it needed to get up. Chekov looked at the eye, and the eye looked back. Both of them knew that Chekov knew that it was there. This was way worse than the feeling of when you don’t know if something like that knows you are there or not. 

“Yes?” the clipboard guy said, and impatient eyebrow up. 

“I think you might be a proper electrician,” Chekov explained with a swallow of his own spit, looking back at the man. 

He groaned. “God I hate this.” A phone, a flip phone – something that was at least a decade behind everybody else who was here, was flipped out and he began to search it for something. “You two tidy this space up, finish setting up the chairs anyways,” the phone came to his ear, “we might be able to get this going fine if this jackass wants to pick u- hey! Mike! How’ya been?”

The other worker leaned over the Chekov, startling him when he spoke. “C’mon, just ignore this guy. He’ an ass.”

“Are there many people here?” Chekov asked, hoping he didn’t look and sound as stressed as he was internally. 

“Apparently its less than the one we had last year,” the worker replied, flicking out one of the chairs from the chair pile. “They reckon that everybody spent their money on that ball game on Wednesday and have nothing left for this.”

“Right, right,” Chekov replied, looking back at the open panel in the ceiling. 

“I like your accent.”

“My accent?”

“Uh-uh.”

“Thank you. It’s mine.”

A taller woman made her way in to the stage. She came to where the man was half on the phone, looked over his paperwork, and then gave a glance over at Chekov and the worker. “Who’s that?” She asked, “The one in the beanie.”

The man looked back at Chekov and the other worker. “One of the newer people. The one that left early yesterday.” 

The woman turned back to him. “You mean Dean, right?” 

“I guess.”

“That’s not Dean.”

“What do you mean?”

“That’s not him.” 

The man looked at her with a squint and brought his phone to his chest. 

“Dean Calton? The guy you fired yesterday morning for punching another one of the staff in the face? You’re trying to tell me that twink over there is him?”

_“I did?”_

“How - how do you still have a job? I don’t know who that kid is.” She said before walking over to the other two. “Excuse me,” she asked Chekov with a stack of chairs in his arms. 

Chekov looked at her and carefully put the chairs down. “Privet,” he greeted just as, if not more, carefully. 

“What’s your name, _newbie?”_ the woman said with a smile. “I think we’re missing a nametag or two here.”

Chekov blinked. “Excuse me for a quick moment,” he smiled, and then bolted towards the door. He jumped over a small stack of chairs before using the edge of the doorway to turn a sharp turn down the hall to get as far away as possible. 

“Oi! Stop!” the woman yelled out by the time Chekov was already out and running down the hall. In his hast, he accidentally pushed over somebody in a Lolita-style dress as he ran back towards the merchandise tables.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve been trying to work out how a discussion of ‘why are the timelines of everything here all weird’ or whatever, but I realise that nobody is really going to be thinking about that unless they’re really getting involved. I know it’s nitpicking, but it does make more sense for like, this lot to arrive at a 60’s con instead. That would probs would make for a more interesting story if somebody who knew about those would write that. Please, somebody, write that I love this stuff. 
> 
> Time ain’t all that linear, I guess. It can be whatever the plot needs it to be.


	10. Spockanalia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have you noticed that I haven’t actually named any ‘real person’/’yeah that counts as an oc’ in this? I recently did. It doesn’t count as an oc if you don’t name them.

On the surface, nothing about the place seemed wrong. Actually, the whole convention seemed really fun. People were dressed up as all sorts of things, prints and other merchandise was being sold, it was running smoothly. At least, it has been up to this point. You and I both know that it’s not going to stay like that. We need some tension build up otherwise this entire story ends up much too short for my liking. 

During the same time that the previous chapter was happening, Scotty and McCoy had their own look around what was for sale down in the artist’s ally. It had actually been Scotty, McCoy, and Chekov in the little ‘B-team,’ but at some point Chekov ended up splitting from them to look at some replicated swords. The other two did not notice this - perhaps if they did this story would have gone in a completely different direction. 

Scotty looked down at the packet that was in a neat pile on a white foldable table, reading was printed on the folded up shirt inside. “Doctor, look at this,” he said with a smile, nudging the other man over. Once McCoy was looking, Scotty showed him the shirt. _“’Beam me up, Scotty’!”_ he read from it, the design of the shirt was recreated on a business card that was inside of the packet. “And the letters are inside of a transporter beam. Isn’t that marvelous?” 

“You know, it doesn’t cost all that much. You could probably wear it under your uniform and nobody would know.”

Scotty chuckled and put the shirt back down on the pile. “Oh, no, I couldn’t do that.”

“Hey, it’s supporting a local business, isn’t it?” McCoy said with a smile.

McCoy skimmed over the next few tables by himself. By the end of this particular row was one that seemed to be selling stacks of paper. _Odd._

He went up to the table, glancing over what it had for sale. The young woman who was running it was in a blue science uniform that he recognized, her sleeves having a gold stripe on each. She also had black pants on and shoes that seemed more fitting for this time period and not his own. Her hair was also better suited for this time, not a regular beehive that he was used to seeing women on the ship in. Those things come and go. She smiled when she noticed that McCoy was seeing what she had for sale. McCoy did his best to smile back. 

“Howdy,” McCoy greeted. His eyes brushed over something that had ‘Spockanalia’ written on it. 

“Hey,” she said back. “Those ones are scans and reprints of old fan magazines, and I’ve gotten the rights to do it so don’t worry about that.” She finished with a laugh. 

Fan magazines, of course. Frankly, he wasn’t even the least bit surprised. 

“Although,” the woman continued, fixing one of her sleeves, “a lot of it just old Spirk stuff.” 

_“Spirk?”_ McCoy asked. 

“Yeah, the ship.” 

McCoy seemed to look at her. “I don’t think that I’ve ever heard of a ‘USS Spirk’ before.”

The woman laughed. “No-no, like, the paring?”

McCoy didn’t.

“…. As a relationship? Kirk and Spock as a couple?”

For some reason, a lot of things suddenly clicked for the doctor. “Oh, yes that does makes sense.”

You could practically see it in her eyes the batshit excitement that she was feeling - but not letting herself express it. Something on the line of ‘holy shit that guy looks like Bones and he’s asking what shipping is. What the fuck this is so fucking cool’ if it was to be loosely transcribed. ‘AaaaAAAHHHHH’ would be another acceptable transcription. 

McCoy could see this very well, and it almost made him smile. It wouldn’t have been all that hard to just say ‘Hello, I’m actually the real Lenard McCoy. There’s been a bit of a reality mix up but we’re dealing with it at the moment. Thanks for the Kirk/Spock porn,’ but he didn’t. It’s not like anybody would have believed her, anyways.

The girl became a little more relaxed after the weird exchange. “Anyways, yeah. Some of the stuff that I’ve got reprinted here goes waaaaaay back.” 

“How far?”

“Oh man, I’ve got some stuff here,” she picked up a stapled collection of printed paper, “from the late 60’s, back when the show was first airing.” 

McCoy picked up the zein and thumbed through the text. “Any recommendations?”

“Oh, out of that one? I quite like the _‘Visit to a Weird Planet’_ bit, that’s the last one in it.”

“Oh? And what is that story about?”

“Ah,” she seemed for think for a second, “It has Spock, Bones, and Kirk swap places with their actors while they’re filming. It’s pretty short but still fun.” 

McCoy couldn’t believe it, it was like the universe was playing a cruel joke on him. What else happened in them? The three watch an ep or two on a VHS they found left in a motel room? They all go to a convention? “I see, very imaginative.” He grumbled before putting it back down in its pile. 

“Those aren’t Spirk stories, though, but there are some in this other collection,” She informed, putting her hand on another stack of printed paper. 

“I see, I see,” McCoy said as he looked over what else was there. It honestly looked like more of the same. “Are you making a lot from all of this?”

“Well, people are buying it, but I guess it’s all about the novelty of having it all printed.” 

“Yes, I can believe that.” 

McCoy paid for the few that looked tasteful, smiled, and the left.

* * *

In another part of the centre, Kirk and Spock where still together. 

“I should probably get into uniform,” Kirk said, playing with a button on his shirt. “Then we’d match.” 

“If you desire to.”

Kirk dug around into the bag to find his uniform. It really needed an iron, or whatever the 21st century equivalent of that was. 

“A bathroom might be preferable to undress in,” Spock commented quickly just before Kirk was able to take his shirts off in the middle of the hallway – god knows he was only seconds away from doing that. “I believe that they are over by that wall,” he reported, leaning towards the far corner before the hallway turned. 

“- And separate, weird,” Kirk commented. He looked back at Spock. “I forgot that they used to do that back then. Hang on there for a second, Spock,” Kirk said, already heading that way. “I need to go, anyways.” 

“Certainly,” Spock replied as he watched the other make his way to the men’s bathroom.

If I’m allowed to include a little shot direction here, imagine a single stationary one of Kirk going to the bathroom far enough for him to be rendered to be really tiny, a beat with the shot still rolling, and then him coming out with his shirt changed. 

Kirk looked around, for the second time that day he had somehow lost even more of his crew. The sound that he made when he realised that he couldn’t see Spock anymore can be transcribed a little like _‘nhgn,’_ but with a hard inflexion on the second ‘n.’ It took another moment for him to actually find Spock, but it felt a lot longer than that. 

There seemed to be a few people around him, all talking to him. One of them seemed to be a young woman in a red Starfleet women’s, the same type that Uhura usually wore. Kirk was able to get Spock’s attention, but by the time Spock had recuperated the attention somebody else walked between them. 

The two of them ended up walking with each on the other side of the hallway for a lot longer than either would have liked to have done. Kirk felt like he was in a Starfleet science conference where Spock was the hot ticket item to talk to. Man, he hated those.

* * *

And now, another cut back to the B-team. McCoy and Scotty where now making their way towards a more open area of the convention. 

“It’s a pity the show is so old, we could have blended right in,” McCoy commented. Was he starting to re-think his earlier objection? Mayhaps. 

“I’m sure you could just ask the captain for your uniform back.”

“Ah, Nah. I’m just thinking out loud,” McCoy said with a laugh. He looked back at the other. Scotty seemed almost distracted by something. 

“What’s wrong?” McCoy asked, “I know that look.” 

“Ah,” Scotty said with a laugh. ”I was just thinking about something.” 

“About what? Enlighten me.”

Scotty moved his right hand around, looking at on both sides it as he was getting used to a new ring. “It’s just my hand, I was wondering the gentleman who plays me is also missing his finger.” 

McCoy looked at the 4-fingered hand. Scotty wasn’t one who liked to talk about it aside from the occasional joke or a _‘don’t do X, that’s how I lost my finger’_ warring to a newbie, so it was interesting seeing him be suddenly so okay with it. “I would assume so, yes. That would be a lot work to cover up a finger like that, and it couldn’t be comfortable to do with it suck down.” 

“Makes yea wonder how he lost his.” 

“I don’t think it would have been the same way that you lost yours,” McCoy mused. “What was it? Klingon fight? Cadet Year mishap? Something along the lines of saving the USS Supernova like ensign Bash was talking about a week ago?”

Scotty laughed and put his hand back in his jacket pocket. 

“Or is it the tribble story nowadays? Honestly, Mr Scott, you need to keep a log of them all.” 

“You humour me too much, doctor,” Scotty replied with a playful chuckle. 

McCoy fiddled a little bit with the ring that he wore on his pinky that had belonged to his mother. It made him wonder if his actor had a similar story or somebody just wrote that as a bit of backstory. He didn’t really care whatever the story was.

Eventually, Kirk ended up spotting the distant figures of Scotty and McCoy. It wasn’t that hard to get their attention and rejoin them, Spock not included of course. The three of them stood a good 20 meters or so from where Spock was being talked to for a couple of minutes before speaking again. 

“Back in green?” McCoy asked, still watching Spock. 

Kirk looked down at his uniform. “Ah well, it seemed fitting. Yours is in the bag-“

“-No,” McCoy cut in coldly. “My ego isn’t that hungry.” 

Scotty chucked a little to himself at that. 

“I think mine needs bit of a clean,” Kirk said softly has he fixed up his dress shirt. He sort of hoped that he had his normal day uniform with him instead of this one. “Where’s Chekov?” he asked, slinging the tote back over his shoulder. 

McCoy raised an eyebrow. “Chekov? I thought he was with you.” 

Kirk exhaled softly. “That’s not good, we’ve lost our ensign.” 

Scotty seemed to smile at that. “He’s probably already found some new friends like Mr Spock has.” 

“I guess so,” Kirk replied, a hand to his face. “I think we should go and rescue him.” 

“Are you kidding, Jim? This is amazing.”

“He doesn’t look like he’s having all that much fun.” Kirk bit his lip and gave the bag to McCoy. “Hang on.”

* * *

Imagine, if you will, a short-ish brunet man running from one end of a large convention center half saying, half yelling ‘Keptain’ over and over again. If he happens to run past you, you can hear something along the lines of _‘keptainkeptain keptain KEPTAIN KEPTAIN KEPTAIN keptain keptainkeptain.’_

* * *

“Spock, hey,” Kirk said as he infiltrated the little mass of people and put a hand on Spock’s shoulder. Spock looked at him, and whether it was though the touch contact or from the captain just being there next to him, you could see Spock becoming a little less stressed – even if it was only a little bit. 

“Kirk,” Somebody said to themselves. 

“Ahah, yes,” Kirk said with a smile, showing off his uniform towards the person who had spoken. “How do I look?”

“Oh, very good,” the person said with a blush, removing themselves from the situation. 

“Can I get a photo of you two?” somebody else asked. Kirk bright Spock in closer, Spock doing a Ta’al next to Kirk’s [attempt of] posing as their photo was taken. Another person joined in between them for another, and then a duet of Star Wars cosplayers – glowing prop lightsabers and all, posed around them for another photo. It was quite surreal to put it shortly. 

“Captain,” Spock said once the two finally got some breathing room to themselves, “I would prefer not to be put on display like this in future.”

“I know Spock, these people just don’t know any better.” 

“Regardless of our ‘costumes,’ it dose not give them an excuse.” 

Kirk exhaled. “Sorry, Spock.”


	11. A Matter of Perception

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A tad longer than the chapters normally are, boom.

The worker, now alone in the small theatre took a moment to himself. He looked up at the still-open area of the ceiling, loose wires and all. Naturally his boss and her subordinate had chased after the other guy, calling security as he did. Hopefully he didn’t plant a bomb or something.

He put down the chair and went over to the A-frame ladder that was still under the loose panel and climbed up it, phone flashlight on and pointed as he got to the top.

Okay. That’s an eye.

He flinched in his spot when the eye moved. The creature that the eye belonged to picked itself up, large webbed, Pteasaur-like wings stretching out as far as it had the room to do so and markings all over its body began to glow. The creature chirped and the worker panicked, hastily moving down the ladder and reaching back for his phone to try and call somebody.

Large long jaws chased their way into the opening of the hatch as the worker fell to the floor in panic. There was a creaking sound, the floor? No - no it was the ceiling. A single long crack around the open ceiling hatch that was beating like a heart as the creature responsible forced its way out.

The creature fell to the floor, it’s wings too long tangled up to make the landing all that graceful. A few seconds later the worker screamed as the tail rammed itself into the wall just above him and loose plaster rained down from above. The creature drew its tail back and got ready to strike again, and the worker shielded his face and body from its brunt in fear.

The creature seemed to space out, looking for where its prey had suddenly disappeared to. The worker didn’t even dare to breathe. A few moments of primate and slightly confused squawking later and the creature pulled itself back up using the rubble and slid itself back through the hole in the ceiling.

The worker remained quiet for far after the plaster dust settled. He could hear the creaking sound of the creature walking around on the ceiling supports to another part of the centre, but knew there was nothing that he could to help.

Even later, perhaps on a minute or two, the worker had forgotten as to why there was a hole in the wall and ceiling in the first place. He got up and went to go work on something else.

* * *

Chekov skirted around a corner, arms flailing as he stopped himself from slipping over as he did it. He scanned the area for any face that he could recognize.

_Doctor sighted! Not the captain! But still good! This works!_

he hastily went to where McCoy and Scotty were chatting, making sure to keep an eye out for anybody that might be trying to catch him.

“Hey, I was wondering where you were,” McCoy said with a smile as he saw Chekov close in.

“Doctor I’ve found something,” Chekov said quickly.

McCoy looked back at him. “An alien?” 

“Yes – but - no, It’s not – it’s not an Altaki, it’s something else.” Chekov blurted through frantic breaths.

“What?” McCoy asked, putting a hand on Chekov’s rapidly rising shoulder.

“Big problem,” Chekov said, looking up at him.

“Woah, woah there Pavel, use your big-boy words,” McCoy replied.

“This is bad,” Where the big-boy words that Chekov was able to say. He pointed to the ceiling. “Look.”

The three of them looked upwards at the rafters. A familiar face was perched on the ‘stylistically’ exposed vent system.

Now, our heroes don’t actually know the name of this creature, but for the sake of telling you (and to spare us both of us from writing and hearing ‘the creature’ or ‘the alien’ over and over again), it was called a ‘Giburi.’

Not that particular one, you usually wouldn’t see any individual names unless they’re being tracked and/or studied; and you didn’t really do that because they had a lot of teeth and a long thagomizer whose sole purpose is to deflate it’s flying prey. They were a hazard in themselves, especially for the natives that had to deal with them. You usually try everything possible to avoid them. It was like a crocodile or a shark, but it can fly.

Chekov, Scotty, and McCoy looked back down at each other.

“Well,” McCoy said with a nod.

“We found our problem,” Scotty finished.

* * *

Kirk exhaled. “Sorry, Spock.”

Spock seemed a little indifferent at that reply, but not as he shook off the captain’s hand as he went up to comfort Spock’ shoulder. “Captain, we are still in public.”

“Right, right. My apologies.”

Kirk put his hands on his hips and let himself look around the huge hall. Banners, half a dozen lost balloons stuck on the ceiling, a dragon-like creature watching over everybody like a Kingfisher watching its prey, exposed ventilation systems, a lot of merchandise booths, and a small sea of people in costume. He accidentally locked eyes with one of the cosplayers for longer than he should have. 

It was a woman from before – the B’Elanna from the breakfast diner. “Hey, I’ve seen you before,” she said as she walked towards Kirk, “When I was getting breakfast.”

“Oh,” Kirk replied with a bit of a forced chuckle. “Oh I’m so sorry, I must have been staring.”

The B’Elanna laughed. “Ah, don’t worry about that. I was in costume and with this _thing_ on my forehead.”

Kirk gave a friendly shrug. “It’s a good costume.” 

“Thank you. I quite like B'Elanna and the makeup isn’t that hard to do, so that’s good.”

Kirk nodded. “That’s who you’re dressed as, right?”

“Yeah. That half-Klingon chief engineer from Star Trek: Voyager. Didn’t you… recognize what I was?” She seemed a little confused at Kirk asking for clarification like that.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I only really know about,” He gestured to his own uniform with a friendly laugh.

“Oh, it should just be on Netflix or something.”

Kirk nodded again with a smile. “I’ll have to check it out when I can. She seems interesting.” A Half Klingon working on a (presumably) Federation ship? There was a story to that for sure.

“Hey,” The B’Elanna said with a gesture with her head towards Spock, “are you two going to go in the cosplay show later?”

Kirk looked at Spock. Spock slowly shook his head in a definite ‘no.’ Kirk looked back at the B’Elanna cosplayer. “Ah, probably not.”

“Oh pity, you two look good.”

Kirk smiled. “Thank you.”

“Although,” The B’Elanna continued, “Apparently they’re either going to delay it by a lot or cancel it altogether. I heard that the stage for it has had lighting problems all convention.”

“Oh, That sounds annoying.”

“Captain,” Spock said quietly, giving Kirk a small tug on his sleeve. “The others are hailing us.”

Kirk looked at Spock in and then to where Spock had been pointing towards. Chekov was with the rest of the party and was trying to wave the other two to come back. Kirk gave him a small wave in return, and Chekov pointed to the ceiling with the subtlety of a red alert alarm while you’re still walking to where the problem is.

Kirk and Spock looked up at the same time. Ah.

Eye contact had been made.

“What is that?” Kirk asked Spock very quietly, not taking his eyes off the Giburi.

“Not good,” Spock answered. The Alien corked it’s head to the side and blinked.

Kirk looked back at McCoy, but McCoy couldn’t see in Kirk in response due to the fact that his face was deep in his right hand – probably praying to be transferred under a different captain once they got out of this mess. _If_ they got out of it, that was.

“So,” Kirk said, putting his palms together to think.

Spock looked back at the captain. “Yes?”

“Not a terrorist plot, or anything like that.”

“Nope.”

Kirk gulped. This was a lot worse than what he was planning for.

If there was a political motive behind this whole adventure, then could he work around it and saves the day without anything worse of it. It was now apparently and unlikely that there was a political motive at play here. Good luck getting out of this with words, Jimmyboy.

“Alright, new plan?”

“Run,” Spock recommended.

“I’ve always rather liked your plans Mr Spock.”

There was a loud screech from the ceiling. Everybody in the hall put their hands over their ears and winced in the pain that the sound causes. The sound of the cry echoed around the building and people and conversations stopped to look up to where the sound had come from.

The Giburi puffed It’s body and wings out, Its body lit up with a blinding and terrifying display of energy. If it was trying to intimate people, it absolutely didn’t work. They didn’t seem to even realize that gravitation of the situation. People’s phones came out and started to record the sceptical before them.

* * *

Imagine, just for a little moment, that you’re a small-time game developer working on an MMO with a focus on killing monsters. And so, in using what you have on hand you plan to have something big happen in a decently semi-large convention. A lightshow and everything, something to really get people hyped. If it’s that amazing in real life, just wait and see what the thing looks like in-game! And all the other models! Server costs, programmers, and big advertising stunts are expensive! Please give us money!

The point that I’m making here is that the Giburi that we have just encountered right now looks a good deal like one of the monsters in the game. Like, clearly somebody wasn’t all that imaginative, I sure hope nothing comes of this that’s going to put anybody in mortal danger.

So, imagine further: You plan this big thing at a local convention, the type of showcase that everybody is going to bring their phone out to record and make a big deal about on social media. That’s just how people are. They see a cool thing go on and the reaction is either to run screaming or go ‘oh! That’s pretty neat!’ You can’t really fault them. Especially when you have a good amount of context to tell you that it’s okay and the show is only going to get better.

This mini-concert was set for the same Saturday as the bulk of this fic has taken place, and around about the same time. This is a problem that I hope it’s pretty clear what I’m implying. Of course, this show isn’t going to end with an MMO plug, it’s going to end in screaming in a couple of paragraphs from now when everybody figures out that the ‘running screaming’ option is the better one.

* * *

The Giburi came down from the rafters with a not-so-majestic thump between where Kirk and Spock were standing. Both of them ended up scattering in opposite directions in the fall. It roared again. The Giburi was scared and lost in an alien environment - it wasn’t meant to ever be this low to the ground, and it wasn’t coping with all the extra stimulus and atmospheric changes that such a different environment giving it.

Kirk pushed the layer of people that were behind him back like a guard. Some were in cosplay, a de-headed fursuit or two, a few people in varying school uniform, an Altakin commoner watching this unfold with a soft smile and a hand ready to pull a sword if need be, and many others who were not. There was an uneasy murmur of voices around him.

In a moment of quick thinking, Kirk took a teal lightstick off one of the cosplayers in a school uniform and long teal wig (who didn’t even seem to notice that he had taken it) and waved it in the air. “Hey! Look at this!” he called out with it up high.

The Giburi blinked a sideways blink, head following the movements of Kirk’s lightstick with soft and intrigued clucking. Kirk began to sweat, he was making this all up on the spot. He looked behind the creature.

People where being carefully directed and away as they could possibly get form it by Spock. He was guiding people on edges away from the wall behind them and further back into the open side of the clearing. The two legitimate Starfleet officers had managed to direct everybody close into a growing ring around Kirk and the Giburi with a good mix of a general aura that they knew what to do and a straight-up bavarian fire drill. 

McCoy, Scotty, and Chekov couldn’t do much aside from watching from afar. Chekov almost went to his non-existent phazer in a matter of muscle memory before realizing how futile that was of an idea.

Left, right, up, left, down. The lightstick seemed to impress the Giburi. Kirk could see that Spock was getting in close from the creature's left and ready to go for a pinch to the neck to subdue it before it could attack anybody. The two of them shared a nod and the teal lightstick was kept in the air. “Here you go, that’s it,” Kirk sang softly as the Giburi was followed the light. The dotted lights on its own body changed in hue to match.

Spock kept inching closer, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

A thin yet sensitive ear of the Giburi moved back and Spock tensed up, suddenly frozen as a long, sharp thagomizer suddenly sat through his lower torso. Spock looked down at the tip, his uniform now completely ruined. He looked back at an equally-frozen and horrified Kirk before the end of the tail was ripped back out and he stumbles to the floor face-first. Thick, green blood filled his mouth as he tried desperately to catch his breath. The cavern in his body starting to fill the same way, now that the pressure keeping it all together was all gone. 

The Giburi realigned its tail to strike like a scorpion or a stingray, still memorized at the lightstick. It had acted in nothing more than simple instinct, whether that made the fact of the situation itself better or not was up to personal interpretation.

The other three of the crew saw this happen and were equally as horrified. McCoy’s version of that was to push through the people and run to Kirk’s side – that was as close as he could safely get to either alien without the tail being lifted up again and thin teeth showing. The Giburi stirred at the attention it was getting. It didn’t like this, it didn’t like being seen and known.

Nobody said anything.

“Everybody book it!” Kirk called out as soon as he was able to speak again.

And oh, they sure did.

The Giburi barked in accord to the panic all around it. Its cry was like the deep ‘woop’ of a large bird.

* * *

“A man’s been stabbed,” A woman in a schoolgirl uniform said in a quick panic to one of the on-site parametric as she pointed to the general area of the destruction.

The paramedic looked over. “What? Again?”

She nodded, clearly still processing what was going on. “It looks really bad.”

* * *

The crowd moved out of the con to the designated area evacuation area by car park. It was an evacuation protocol in effect and those who weren’t there to see the initial attack assumed that there had been a shooting or something else on that calibre. In that blip in time, everybody was alert and not thinking about anything else.

The Giburi tucked itself over its wings and looked around, making itself comfortable before it ate its new kill – no use in letting it go to waste, even if it was small and strangely green.

Kirk and McCoy, on the other hand, didn’t take this time to make themselves comfortable. McCoy was the first to try and close in, but was met with a toothy and tong-like snout leaning towards him forcing him back away.

It took a few stagnant moments before Kirk realized that he could actually do something more productive. He brought the lightstick back up, waited for the creature’s attention to drawn back to it, and then threw it as far as he could to the other side from where Spock was. The Giburi chirped and followed it go over, but barely moved.

Kirk threw his hands up. “Bah!” he shouted. The Giburi chirped back. Kirk, Giburi, Kirk, Giburi, it was a standoff, each time Kirk stepped forward to push the alien away. “Go! Shoo! Be gone with you!”

The Giburi almost tripping on one of its wings as it stepped back. This attempt caused it to get itself entangled in a marquee, tripping over a table, and then got tangled up with a long strand of Christmas lights that lined one of the ‘alleyways’ (for lack of a better word) between two rows of stalls.

The more it tugged to try and get itself free the tighter it got. One of the sounds that it made as this all transpired was like that of a very confused seagull. It wouldn’t be until the entire building had been emptied and the proper people called that the Giburi would be dealt with and fully contained.

One of the police officers on call saw Kirk and went up to him before Kirk was able to sprint to Spock himself, a hand on the side of the captain’s arm. “Sir,” the officer said holding very tightly. “You have to go with us.” The officer didn’t even seem not even realize that the Giburi was even there.

Kirk struggled against them. “No - that’s my friend over there.” 

This struggling between the two of them was met with a good deal of resistance on Kirk’s part. They had seen the fact that this green-jacketed civilian and been able to distract the, what? Monster? And didn’t seem afraid about any of this and now he was resisting their orders. It seemed at least a little sus. “Are you involved with this in any way?”

“I am now!”

“ _Sir_ ,” The officer repeated in retaliation.

Kirk stuck for the inside of the officer’s chest. This landed him with a different officer holding him down on the floor, arms pinned behind his back because this is real life and a little bit of Kirk-fu isn’t going to get him out of this situation.

“Get off me,” Kirk said as he kept trying to fight back. “He’s going to die.”

The first officer took out his radio as Kirk yelled some more. ‘Yeah, I think I’ve got one of the ones responsible,’ was the main jist of what he said, that as well as asking for some more backup.

Spock had managed to turn around to rest on his back, but it was a challenge at best. Using intense mental control he slowed his pules down to try and slow down the bleeding, but he could feel that it wasn’t doing much.

A man – native, human – came over him to assist and compress the bleeding, but was stopped by all the green that he was seeing before him. The paramedic felt Spock’s pulse on his wrist before he paused again, checked his watch, and then re-checked the pulse. _Too fast. Much, much too fast._ He lifted his hand up, warm green blood covering his glove. He had no way to know that it was naturally supposed to be this colour. It was confusing in the moment, but he still had a job to do. This wasn’t by any means just a regular stab wound.

The paramedic’s hand moved over to where he assumed to be Spock’s heart to be, there wasn’t a pulse coming from there. He saw something move ever so slightly towards his (or really, what he assumed to be his) liver, and felt it. There was a fast plus to the area, causing a great deal of concern on behalf of the paramedic.

Unfortunately, McCoy wasn’t able to get to Spock first, beaten only by that paramedic. “Out of the way,” he said, almost pushing them out of the way once he was there.

“Excuse me,” The paramedic said with his hand out.

“Oi,” McCoy replied. “This man’s been hurt, he needs immediate medical attention.”

“I am attending to that, sir. This man has been hurt, please step away,” The paramedic repeated, growing more and more impatient. “He’s going into shock.”

McCoy looked back at the paramedic. “Look _here_. I’m a trained doctor, and I know this man personally. Let. Me. help.”

Spock made a pained sound as he was lifted gently on his side to make sure he wouldn’t choke in his own blood, the paramedic put his hands down and kept the pressure on Spock’s wound to try and stop the bleeding. Whatever breathing that Spock could do was light and clammy.

One of the other on-site paramedics put a hand on McCoy’s shoulder. “Sir, please step back,” she said, pulling him away. Two other paramedics joined the first.

McCoy pushed her off. “Let _go_ of me,” he said. Their shared interaction became a struggle in its own right. It wasn’t as much of a show as the Kirk fiasco, but it was still worth watching.

The second paramedic looked at the first and then back at McCoy. “Sir, I’m sorry but you can’t interfere, cosplayers-“

“I’m a doctor, not a cosplayer!” McCoy said with a snarl as he shoved the second parametric away. This was enough to get himself in the same sort of trouble that Kirk was now in.

“Security!” The second paramedic called out.

An officer came to assist the second paramedic in dealing with McCoy, holding him back by the side of his arms.

“Have you got any sense left in you?” McCoy snarled as he was being forcefully directed back towards the centre entrance. “Spock’s going to die-“

“C’Mon now, we can handle this,” the officer holding McCoy said sternly. 

McCoy watched the paramedics of this era struggle with Spock, but there wasn’t anything that he could even do. Even if he _could_ get to Spock directly, he didn’t have a single piece of his regular equipment on hand to be able to start patching him up with.

“What the hell even _is_ this _stuff_?” the second paramedic said once she was free from dealing with McCoy, looking at the green mess all over Spock and the floor.

“I don’t know, but it’s warm,” the first said.

The third, for lack of anything better to try or say, sniffed his own glove. “Smells like almost blood.”

“The injuries would account for that, yes.”

“Then why is it green?” the third paused and then spoke again, “It’s a different sort of metallic smell than normal.”

The first looked back at him. “I don’t _know_ ,” he said. He wasn’t irritated when he said that, more worried. There was no sign that Spock was concealing anything that could have ruptured and allow this substance from leaking out as if it was a packet of fake blood, and he could clearly see the entry and exit wounds for himself: green flesh and all. Spock’s blood was starting to clot.

Spock said something again in pain, but nobody there could figure out what it was.

“It doesn’t matter we just need to order an ambulance, stat,” the first parametric said. The third nodded and did just that.

* * *

Chekov got one last glimpse of the captain before Kirk was escorted away by the centre security, followed a few moments later by McCoy with another officer. Kirk and Chekov weren’t able to look at each other for very long before more people came between them. A second later Chekov was found by a worried Scotty, thankful that the Ensign hadn’t of gotten lost in the crowds or been arrested along with the others. The two very promptly left the centre, hands and eyes down on the way.

Scotty and Chekov hid by the corner of a street that was adjacent to one of the centre entrances. Most of the other attendees had gone out through the other sides. It was quite lucky that there was a city hospital and police depo was only a couple of blocks away from that particular centre, but it didn’t offer that much reassurance.

Chekov put his hands on his knees as he caught his breath. Scotty kept his month closed but ears and eyes wide open. Neither needed to say anything – regardless if they could or not. This wasn’t right, this sort of thing didn’t happen to them.

And when it did it, was usually resolved soon enough with a little grit and know-how.

But, here they were. Heavy white clouds became to replace the bright blue sky that loomed above them. An ambulance pulled up in the loading bay on the other side of the street.


	12. Things Always Go Well in TV Land

The computers beeped a whisted as they were in use. There was so much whistling all around that most just forgot that it did that. Nurse Chapel made her way through the bridge and greeted Uhura with a smile and a coffee. 

“I’m the chief communications officer and we’ve lost five of our crew on a planet that we can’t even scan for life signs on,” Uhura said with a sigh as she took the coffee. “Things could be a little better.”

“How long can we stick around and wait for them?” Chapel asked as she rested on the counter.

“We have another 27 hours,” Uhura replied. “After that, we’re just going to have to run with the next best people until we can access the planet again.”

Chapel took a sip of her own coffee. “Don’t tell him that I said this, but I’m almost thankful that Doctor McCoy isn’t here.”

“Oh? Enlighten me.”

“I think it might go against, doctor-patient confidentiality,” Chapel said with a smile.

Uhura matched the smile with her own. “Oh, that’s disappointing.”

“I just had to treat a crewman who walked into a door. I don’t know if it helps or not that he was the one who was sent to fix it.”

Uhura chuckled at that.

One of the consoles behind them seemed to beep in completion. “Lieutenant, look at this,” the operator purred.

Chapel and Uhura looked over to where M’Ress was working. “What’s wrong?” Uhura asked.

“High energy readings all throughout the storm,” “M’Ress purred.

“What’s so special about them, Lieutenant?” 

“This one,” M’Ress replied as she pushed out the readings to a bigger screen, “here.”

Uhura and Chapel seemed to watch the readings for a moment, trying to make sense what they were being shown.

“Right,” M’Ress waited for the right moment before pausing, “There.” She looked back at Uhura. “Something inside of that energy pocket. It’s small, but enough to engulph a small ship.”

The recording played though. “How long ago did you read this?” Uhura asked.

“Only a couple of minutes ago, Sir,” M’Ress replied.

* * *

It took quite a lot of physical effort to cart Kirk away from the scene of the last chapter. Right now he had been taken to a secure room inside of the convention centre before actual authorities would be able to take him somewhere else. 

“What’s your name?” The officer who was sussing him out asked, giving a sharp eye.

“Captain James T Kir-,” Kirk reported out of instinct.

The officer cut in over him. “Stop, stop. What are you supposed to be doing here? ‘Star Fleet?’”

Kirk looked down at the arrowhead badge on his chest. He couldn’t help but sharply inhale through his closed teeth. _Right. Okay. This is a handicap._ He put his hands on his face and exhaled as much of a scream as he could without looking like a crazy person. Kirk straightened himself back up and looked back up at the impatient officer before him. “Look. Everybody here is in real danger, you’ve got to listen to me.”

“Okay, _Kirk_ ,” The security officer said with a laugh. “Got Commander Spock with you, too?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Kirk said, speaking with a lot more of a snarl than he was intending. “He’s the man who was just attacked!”

“Wasn’t Kirk yellow?”

“This is the formal uniform. The captain’s get a green one.”

“Yeah, _suuuure_ they do,” he said, quite unamused.

“What?” Kirk scoffed, “Have you ever _actually_ watched the show?”

“Who are you working for?”

“I’m working for me!”

“Cut your shit!” the officer said with a hand to the table in a bang.

Kirk moved himself back at the slam.

“What the hell is going on?” the officer leered.

Kirk closed his mouth. “I don’t think that I can tell you.”

The officer gave a pretty strong stink-eye. “Why not?”

“Because, whatever that I say you won’t accept. I’m not here to hurt anybody, you’ve got to at least believe that.”

* * *

There was something off about the police car that Kirk couldn’t take – It was cold and unwelcoming. It didn’t help that the two of them couldn’t have been in the vehicle for more than a couple of minutes. He was certain that he was going to be detained locally, but that wasn’t the case. These people had their rules and customs much like his own.

McCoy didn’t say anything or look anywhere aside from his hands for the duration of the ride. They were held tightly together, almost to stop himself from doing something stupid with them. Strangling Kirk with them was fairly high on his desire list, but that was something he kept to himself.

* * *

“So,” McCoy said, looking up at the holding room ceiling.

“Yes,” Kirk replied, also looking at the ceiling, slumped low on his chair. There was a fan above them, clicking loudly.

“We’re stuck on a pre-first contact Earth.”

“Yes.”

“In this universe we are nothin’ better than fictional characters from a low-budget science fiction TV show.”

“Mh-hm.”

“Two of our crew are missing, and one of them is probably being carted halfway across the country to be dissected like a frog after he dies a slow and painful death the hands of barbarians who still think aluminium is a safe way to store food.”

“Yes.”

“There is a winged, carnivorous alien monstrosity with the ability to be quickly forgotten in now captivity by a group people who know even less about it than us; and we don’t even know what the things are called.”

“Yes.”

“And we’ve just been arrested.”

“Yes.”

“Well Jim, I’ll have to admit this, it’s impressive.”

Kirk looked back at the man sitting backwards on the plastic chair beside him. “Would it make for a good TV plot?”

“No.” McCoy replied. His arms were resting on the back of the chair.

There was a pause. The fan kept on clicking.

“Bones, do I look like a ‘Bill?’”

McCoy seemed to think for a bit. “I think that if I was told that without me already knowing you I would believe that, yes.”

Kirk stood up. He didn’t really know what to do with his hands, so they ended up pulling on the elastic of his pants. (Well, not really elastic, future space elastic. It still did the same job.) “Ya’know, this isn’t exactly how I thought this would all go down.”

“What were you expecting to happen?”

“Well, it to be more, _‘Star Trek’_ -related, for one,” He said with a sheepish sigh.

McCoy began to tangent. “What should we do, next time? Impersonate an actor or two? Watch a bunch of stuff that we haven’t experienced yet so we’ve got a heads up? Win a costume contest? Kidnap a writer and force them to write me a happy marriage?”

“I was just thinking out loud, Bones,” Kirk dismissed, “I was so sure about all of this and now, we’re not.”

McCoy sighed. “Look, I’m not much for knowin’ how to react to being told that I’m fictional, but I think dealing with all this stuff is more up your ally.”

Kirk seemed to respond to an unsure shrug. “Why are we 60 years after ‘Star Trek’ finished airing? Why _couldn’t_ we have landed in the 1960’s? That would make sense, and at least then we might have been able to blend in as are, and we’ve been to that era a couple of times before anyways.”

“What were you expecting to get out of that? Impersonate our actors? Confounding Mr Roddenberry in person?”

Kirk had to stop himself from saying ‘sort of.’ “Well, it’s easier than trying to work around this prequel that’s currently airing, that’s for sure.” Kirk looked back at McCoy, feeling a little silly. “I guess that’s why we’ve had a couple of missions back in the 1960’s, it saves on a set.”

“You’re thinking about this too hard, I think.”

“I think I am,” Kirk said as he slumped back down. In the chair. “Maybe this isn’t going to end up as something big, maybe it’s just, this, and all this ‘Star Trek’ stuff is just supposed to be in the background.”

“I think you’re right about that.”

Tick-tick-tick-tick-tick-tick-tock-tick-tick.

The fan missed every 7’th tick. That missing click was starting to drive Kirk and McCoy crazy. McCoy looked back at Kirk. “You’re really worried about Spock, aren’t you?”  
  
“Of course I am! What kind of question even is that?”

“I am, too,” McCoy said quietly. “These people are going to end up killing him unless I can help them out, and when they do kill him they’ll be carting his body somewhere to be cut up and studied like a 20th century mummy. If they’re somehow able to stabilize him they’re still going to take him away to the same place to be studied while being locked up like an animal. I don’t like either option.”

The door to their shared cell was quickly opened, and in walked in a police sergeant, overdressed uniform and all. He didn’t look too happy to talk to either of them. He looked at some paper on a clipboard. “Right now, gentlemen. I see you’ve not been wanting to corroborate with anybody just yet.”

“Well,” Kirk said before stopping himself. “Yes, I suppose we haven’t.”

The door was closed behind him. “Are you going too?”

“Not likely,” McCoy interjected with his arms crossed.

“I see,” the sergeant said, already rather exhausted with these two. Kirk and McCoy gave worried looks to each other. The sergeant looked back. “What? What is it _now_?” he barked.

“Are you, okay?” Kirk asked softly.

“Of course I’m okay! What the hell are you jabbering on about?”

“You just seemed to ‘space out’ for a moment.”

“No I didn’t!”

Kirk and McCoy exchanged looks again.

“Officer, what do you last remember?” Kirk asked him.

The sergeant looked at him, almost offended at the question. “Standing right here, dealing with whatever game you three think this is.”

“My god, the venom must be taking affect.”

“Venom?”

“Yes, don’t you remember? It got right in your face.”

“Not it didn’t!”

“It’s worse than we thought.” McCoy said in fake shock.

“What did you think? What’s goin-“

Kirk suddenly stood up, ran to the sergeant and held him tightly in his arms.

“What the hell – are you – get off me!” He said, pushing him away.

“You almost collapsed just then.”

“I –“ he paused, “Did I?”

Kirk nodded. The sergeant looked at McCoy. McCoy nodded in the same way. He looked back at Kirk. “What the hell is going on here? Tell me.”

“I could,” Kirk said, “but you wouldn’t believe it. It would just sound like I’m making it up on the spot.”

“Try me. I’m a pretty imaginative person,” the sergeant said with his teeth closed.

Sometimes life faces you with a situation where you just have to play along. It’s like when you get a wrong number text in the tone of ‘you cheated on my husband’ and every time you try and explain that they’ve got the wrong number they call you a ‘filthy whore’ and demands that you stopped playing innocent and own up to your ‘actions’ in person.

Kirk put his hands up and exhaled. “Alright, you’ve got us. I’ll tell you what’s going on.”

The sergeant raised an eyebrow and began to tap his foot.

“You’ve probably caught on my now that we’re not from around here, and I’m sorry if these ‘forms’ aren’t quite right.” Kirk began to explain, already too deep in to back away, “We accidentally brought that thing over from out,” Kirk seemed to pause again, “’Dimension,’ and we didn’t have all that much time for cultural research before we arrived to bring it back. These, ‘Star Trek’ characters were the best we were able to do with such short notice.” Kirk put his hands on his hips, tapping his gut with one of the hands as he thought up what to say next. “Although, I really _am_ the captain, and he’s,” Kirk gestured to McCoy, “really is a doctor. Our crew positions aren’t a lie and I wouldn’t have any reason to make that bit up.”

McCoy put his face in his hand and starting to calculate the legal repercussions that he and the captain were gearing up to face.

“Admittedly, our plan didn’t go as it should have, but I can assure you that if we can get back to our ship with that creature we will be out of your hair with no more fuss.”

The sergeant looking Kirk up and down. He didn’t believe a word that he was being told.

“Our Doctor is the only person who knows how our,” Kirk seemed to pause for added effect, “‘ _Mr Spock’_ works, and if he’s not allowed to help than he’s going to die.”

The sergeant looked at McCoy and then left the room, closing the door behind him with an echoed ‘clink.’

McCoy looked back at Kirk with a disbelieving snarl. "That's the worse goddam story I've ever heard in my _life_. The truth would have _actually_ worked better." 

“I know, I panicked," Kirk said, his hands on his cheeks, "but it’s the best I’ve got.”

“It’s really not.”

The door clicked back open a minute later. “You – doctor, get scrubbed.” The sergeant ordered with a point of his finger.

* * *

“Something has been bothering me for a little bit,” Chekov said as he stared deep into the shuttle ceiling.

“What about?” Scotty asked from the outside.

“Actors. Or really, ‘ _our_ ’ actors.”

“Worried that yours isn’t Russian?”

“He better be. No, it’s just, _all_ of it has been bothering me for a while,” Chekov looked back over at the engineer, “So if they are actors still, shouldn’t there be old movies with them in them? What if the man who pretended to be Doctor McCoy also pretended to be a cowboy in an ancient west story? Or the man who pretended to be the captain as a police officer?” Chekov asked, “When we get back and see those movies, will it be them? Or other people? Are they going to look exactly the same?”

Scotty thought for a moment or two. “I suppose it would still be them. I can’t see why they wouldn’t still have a carrier or a life here.”

“But what if it started with this show? What then?”

Scotty didn’t really have an answer to that. It was a good question to ask.

“I still want to see if there is a cowboy Doctor McCoy look-alike on film somewhere.”

“Where did you get this cowboy idea from?” Scotty said with a bit of a laugh.

Chekov shrugged. “It feels like it would suit him. It’s the accent.”

“Alright then,” Scotty said with a smile, “try it now.”

Chekov took off the half-on headset that he had around his neck, sat up from lying on the floor of the shuttle with his legs dangling over the edge before the stairs, and started up the shuttles’ engine from the inside control panel. Everything glowed and hummed as it should. He felt around the controls, the handles having ridges for your fingers to sit in.

“All right! That’s enough!” Scotty’s called out over the ship’s hum from the outside.

Chekov turned the ship off and leaned himself out of the door.

“Well,” Scotty said with a clap of his hands as he came to Chekov, “At least we have a ship, any word on the rest of the crew?”

“They’ve left their communicators here,” Chekov said as held up two of them with his hand. “And there is nothing on the old radio signals saying that they’ve been picking up, either.”

Scotty seemed to mutter some sort swear in Klingonese under his breath. Chekov sat back down at the door, his legs rocking back and forward over the gap.

“If we could just get close enough, we might be able to get a lock on them through what metadata we have of them already, but that’s a longshot in itself.”

Chekov nodded, hoping that it would help.

“If ye ever wondering why _our_ shuttles have a localized transport in them, this is the reason.”

The two stopped talking as the junkyard gates were opened up with a creak. It appeared to be the same man and truck who they had seen towards the beginning of the story.

The man walked out of his car, closed the driver’s door, and moved some junk from a pile onto his car’s tray. The two officers watched him do this from the inside of the shuttle. It was almost impressive to see the stranger competently miss the ship as he worked around it. At one point he walked up to it, very clearly saw the ship, exchanged nods with Scotty, and walked around it to keep on working.

“It has to be the cloaking,” Scotty said, going through the cockpit’s monitor, “It’s all perceptual.”

“ _Is_ that cloaking?” Chekov asked, “Aren’t you not allowed to cloak?”

“It doesn’t look like a full cloak, but it does the job alright when you’re looking at the ship directly.”

Chekov nodded and watched the man go back into his truck.

“We should keep working.”

“Eye.”

The two of them went back inside.

“Look at this,” Scotty said as he pulled up a reading on one of the front panels. It was a decently packed line graph with a huge spike towards the end of the data. The graph had more spikes through it, but that peak was the most dramatic of them all. Scotty zoomed in with his finger and thumb to the largest spike, there was a smaller one right after it, and then the uniformity of the data fizzled out.

“They’re external energy readings, it looks like lighting records.”

Chekov pointed to the big spike. “Is that us?”

“Oh, I’d bet it.” Scotty pressed some more, the data changing to another overlay in a different colour. “Look here,” he said as he pointed to the spike. It wasn’t as big as the first show of the data, but it was still massive. This second set of data showed tiny spikes before the large one, clearly not big enough to worry about.” He looked over and saw that Chekov was paying quite a lot of attention to what he was being told. “What’s interesting is that this one shows a lot of kenotic energy right at the same time,” Scotty finished as he studied the readings.

“Kinetic?” Chekov asked, “So what are you Thinking? That we hit a ‘space deer' and got pushed into another reality?”

That made Scotty laugh. “More-or-less, yes. It seemed to be the catalysts together at just the right moment, overloaded something not quite unlike back when we had that encounter with that other universe. Perhaps if we are able to recreate what happened it _might_ send us back, but that’s the best guess that I can give you without any proper equipment on me.”

“ _Might_?”

“It’s a long shot, I’ll give you that much.”

Chekov shrugged. “I guess that It’s the best shot that we have.”

A faint crack of thunder came from far away, too far for it to be a worry just yet. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I sometimes think about Seven of Nine being a thing has a direction correlation to Obama being elected. Was Obama a thing in the Star Trek universe? Three Men and a Baby? Trek World? Whopie Goldberg’s entire carrier?


	13. Bleedin' Green

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is rather short compared to the others, but it saves from a really long one. At the time of posting that second one is completely finished, I more-or-less just saw the word count and didn't like how long it was.

The Altaki [Ah-Lyl-tah-key] are a humanoid race native to the planet Taltuis V, and have settlements on both of it’s moons. During the point that this story is set they are also in the process of making another one like it on Taltuis IV. Taltuis V is not yet a member of the Federation, but are on good enough terms with it to not cause any trouble. They are a planet that makes most of its economy through farming and mining exports (large gold and quarts), and import mostly water and coal due to a lack of both on the planet. They are slightly shorter than the average human and share the same primate ancestor as the Giburi, although they do not really look it aside from having a large spine on the end of their tails and a longer pinky finger that naturally bends back and out of the way as an evolutionary leftover. Big animal takes to sky and small animal becomes primate-ish. It happens from time to time. 

Even as of the early 25th century, Federation-officer admissions are low, but no unheard of. This is primary due to the fact that they have a tendency to be so easily forgotten and fall into the cracks, even by their own senior officers. They often stay on as engineering officers or work in covert operations behind the scenes, using their natural ability to their advantage. 

The effect is hormonal, and can be suppressed with an oral or injectable drug known natively by the brand name ‘Keltk.’ It is not mandatory for them to take, but it’s more or less highly expected of them to do so just to keep everything running. 

The hormone itself works by changing the other’s perception. Not by making them forget about them completely or unable to remember, but to force them not to notice. It’s a natural fluro work shirt and a clipboard on a house robber. Sure like, you can see them go in without anybody letting them, but they’re in a fluro shirt, they must have a reason to be there. Or like when somebody gets into an event by just carrying a camera and looking like they know what to do. That can be all you need. 

Another example is when a car alarm goes off. How many times have you heard one sound and it’s just somebody trying to get into their own car or just bumping somebody's while walking past? And how many times have you heard one and it’s actually _been_ a robbery? 

Exactly! You wouldn’t even notice it. you couldn’t, unless you really tried. 

Interestingly, Altaki blood has the same effect, but in enough of a concentration can actually cause memory loss. It is not unheard of somebody using a simple spray-bottle of the stuff (it’s even almost completely clear, so it can pass for many other things) as part of a getaway plan. Poor it on somebody’s face and run in the other direction. 

And if you were wondering, the small scythe on their tails is made of catalogue and usually kept either purposely dull or covered over so it can’t hurt anybody. 

Our story takes place about a native year and a half after a rather nasty war had finished on the planet. Peace had been found between the two warring sectors with a treaty and with their combined forces worked to reach out to the United Federation of Planets for the next natural stage of their planet’s development. The ‘winning’ side of the war was in fact the government who had hosted that very Gala that we saw a couple of in-story days ago. 

Well, in-story yesterday. You understand what I’m saying. 

So yes. Great for having no big repercussions in the ‘real world’ in the course of the story, but not so great for our heroes when the cops can’t actually remember anything about the dragon-thing stuck in a large-ish convention hall that they’re trying to catch and then keep on getting supersized that it’s there, or when trying to explain to them what exactly was going on. 

But hey, that’s not an issue for us. Right now all we need to care about is Mr Spock. 

  
  


* * *

“- and speaking of the weather,” the radio presenter reported, completely unprompted, “It looks like it’s going to storm pretty strongly this arvo, so be careful around that. South-West winds are taking the heat with them and turning into lightin’. Storms like this, a long time ago, have been seen as a sort of inspiration for a lot of folklaw. It’s where the idea of a thunderbird came from: some even say you can still see them flyin’ around during weather like this.”

“We’re in the completely wrong part of the country!” The co-hosts said with a laugh, used to his antics by now, “And that’s not even the tiniest bit close to any actual folklaw! You’re making this all up.” 

“I can assure you that I’m not,” he replied with confidence. 

“Uh-huh,” she replied, “Sure thing.” 

“Still no word on if the Don Martin Convention Center is going to open again this weekend or if at all, but from what I’ve seen the answerer is ‘probably.’ Seems like it’s been a pretty big weekend for everybody.” 

* * *

In the emergency room of the Hilton-Brice Royal Hospital, a casualty was taken in with what was listed down as a large stab wound through his back from another attendee of the local convention center. In the time that it had taken to get the patient to the ER he had lost a great deal of blood, and his heart rate had risen to way above what was safe for a human, despite the deteriorating condition that he was in. 

The man wasn’t in great shape at all, to put it simply. 

One of the first responders to Spock when he came in was a young-ish male trauma nurse. Within the first few minutes of Spock arriving there he was the first one to actually pay actual attention to the bigger picture. It was a ‘ _Wait hang on, this guy is Spock. Like, the Vulcan guy from the TV show’_ moment for him. 

The trauma nurse got the attention of one of the other people attending. “I know why he’s all green and not reading right, I know what he is,” The nurse said in half a whisper, “He’s an alien.” 

“I’m sorry? Do you know what an alien usually looks like?” one of the doctors replied over any response the other nurse could have given, looking dead at him. 

“No, It’s like,” You could see that he couldn’t really find a better way to say what he was going to say, “I think he’s a Vulcan.”

“’ _Vulcan_?’” The doctor replied, clearly not expecting him to say something like that, “Like from ‘Star Trek?’ Vulcans aren’t real.”

_Beep beep beep beep beep hey guys pay attention he’s gonna die._

“Then what the hell is going on with this guy? I’m serious here, his vitals are almost textbook for the show.”

The doctor checked over something on a monitor. “It doesn’t matter,” she said, “We don’t have the time for this.” 

“No – no, hang on,” the nurse said, moving behind a few co-workers to get to her, blocking her from travelling with Spock to theater. “It totally matters.” 

“ _Liam_ -“ the doctor sighed. “Do your job.” 

The nurse stammered. “I-I am! Check where his liver should be, it’s gonna be a heart. All that green stuff coming out of him is copper-based blood.” 

The doctor hummoreed him with a sigh, catching up to Spock and checking the area with an electronic stethoscope. She paused for a moment to read the results before looking confused. “What the hell…” she muttered, quickly checking other points of interest of Spock. 

“See?” 

The doctor didn’t respond to him, only going right part and gave more, slightly frantic, orders. The nurse didn’t move on with the rest of the gaggle, instead finding himself alone in the hallway. Nobody had noticed that he got left there. 

The nurse went back and found one of the paramedics who had come in with him on their way out. 

“Did he have anybody else with him?” he asked, tugging the other man’s sleeve gently. 

The paramedic had a bit of dried Spock blood on his dark blue uniform. He thought for a moment, “I think there was a person or two there that got taken in for interference, why?”

“What did they look like? White, middle-aged, southern-ish?” the nurse pestered. 

The paramedic looked at him funny. “I dunno man, I was focused on the patient at the time. The cops dealt with him pretty quickly.” 

“Where would they be now? Here?”

He shrugged, “being questioned somewhere I would guess. That if they kept them around.”   
  
  


* * *

The Sargent closed the door on the pair of loons and sighed. 

“How are they going?” another officer, who had been guarding the door, asked. 

“Worse.”

“Oh, pity.” 

“They’re talking about aliens now, but asides from that they both seem put together enough to actually give us a real story,” He said with a sigh. 

“Yikes.” 

“Annoying, but I’ve had crazier.” 

The two of them were then interrupted by a young man in a nurse’s uniform. He looked like he had been running.

“Is one of them a doctor?” The nurse asked, still catching his breath, “Short brown hair? Blue eyes? Southern accent? Grumpy?” 

The sergeant looked him up and down. “What are you talking about, son?” 

“We need him.” 

“Who? What are you going on about?” the sergeant asked. 

The nurse rubbed his face and exhaled to try and gain his composure back. “The man that they had brought in the ER with the abdominal stabbing, he’s not a human.”

“Not human?” The sergeant asked blankly. This whole interaction was annoying enough as it was already. 

“No, sir. His anatomy isn’t standard. His blood is even _green_.” 

“Right – yes – sure - okay,” he said, trying to shake the nurse away, “so what about the actual doctors there? Can’t they do their job?”

The nurse shook his head. “I-just,” he didn’t quite know what to say without saying absolutely crazy. “I’m afraid that they’re not going to be able to help him, they’re gonna make it worse if not outright kill him with the wrong drugs or infection or _something_. I just have a horrible feeling about this.”

“And you think that the ‘doctor’ that we have in custody is somebody who can?”

“Doctor! You do! Yes! I believe so, yes. The patient even told us that he was the one that he needed,” He lied. 

“That seems to be the same story that they’re spilling in there, yes,” the sergeant said softly, thinking of the story he had just heard. 

The nurse piped up, “really? That’s great.”

“What are you thinking?” the officer who was also there asked. 

“When is the patient going to go in for surgery? If he is, that is,” the sergeant asked. 

“Any moment now – and they’re gonna slow his heart down to a lethal level when they do it.” 

“And you thought that coming directly here was better than calling us?” he asked, putting a ‘what-the-hell-are-you-doing’ empathis on the word 'coming.’ 

“I uh,” the nurse ‘umed’ in increasing panic, “there would have been no way in hell that anybody would have listened to me in time to get this message across properly - I’m sorry.” 

“You really think that the doctor that was with them is the only person who can help?”

The nurse nodded. “Yes sir. It’s all a really strong gut feeling.”

“Enough to bet your job on? Because I highly doubt that you’ve still got it now that you’ve come all the way here just to break protocol.”

The nurse didn’t quite have a good enough response to that. “Yes sir, I understand.” 

The sergeant looked the nurse up and down one more time, sighed to himself, and then went back to the room behind him. 

“You – doctor, get scrubbed,” he ordered Doctor McCoy, holding a finger out towards him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I personally consider this chapter a bit of a Deus ex Machina, but this is my story I'm allowed to do that. And all that info is really better suited for a sequel, but hey, no harm done.
> 
> There is either three or four chapters left in the story now, depending on how long the 'cool action chapter' (that's legit it's working chapter title) ends up. Thank you to all that's stuck around so far, it means a lot to me that the least somebody out there likes whatever fourth-wall nonsense that I type up and put on the internet.


	14. Doctor, Doctor, Gimmy the News

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Double update in the same week, woop woop

The vintage-style operating theatre left a lot to be desired, but it would have to suffice. Everything was clean and white, the smell of archaic cleaning products was strong. McCoy was given a blue scrub over his clothing and a chance to clean himself up with water and soap. He didn’t trust using plain old water and chemical, but he was on thin ice as it was. There was no way in hell that would leave him clean enough. 

McCoy had also refused to take his pinky ring off when gloves were strapped his hands, he had never taken it off for surgery before and he wasn’t going to start now. It was smooth, they would survive. 

The theatre itself was a mess of people, machines, and body parts. Spock’s blood had been collected and stored off to the side, almost as if they didn’t want to throw any of it away. 

“I need 3d scans of his body, I need to see how badly he’s been cut,” McCoy asked as he looked over the theatre and what they had done with Spock out on the table. Okay so it was aracic, but it worked well enough for these people and did the job. Spock had been anaesthetized long before McCoy had gotten there. He looked so weak and helpless, his clothing had been snipped off him and his hair loose and over his eyes. Seeing him so vulnerable wasn’t normal. 

“Not enough time for an MRI,” somebody to the side of McCoy said. 

“I’m not asking for an ‘em-ar-eye’, McCoy scoffed, ‘what do you have of him?” 

“X-rays have been taken.”

“An _X-ray_?” McCoy said in horror. “Are you trying to give the man radiation poisoning? Do you have no shred of ethics - his mesenteric vein is bleeding into his stomach,” McCoy said, his attention being quickly directed over to the x-ray of Spock on the wall. There were circles in pen around some non-human physical differences on the film, as well as the damage that’s been done. It also looked like one of Spock’s ribs had been clipped out of place from the thagomizer being pulled out of his body. “It looks like it’s been cut clean – no wonder he’s haemorrhaging.” 

“How can you be so sure? That vein’s running _horizontal_.” 

“Well, A, it’s a small bag of acid that’s connected to the oesophagus, my bets are on it,” McCoy pointed to a light blob to the side of Spock’s X-ray, “and B, see that? That’s a heart. Since his heart is there and not where a human normally has it it’s only fair to assume that his mesenteric might just be coming right off it like a heart should.” 

“That’s not human.”

“He _isn’t_ , that’s the whole damm point.”

“Oi-“

“Well, _Doctor_ , if you even are one, if you’re going to specialize in humans at least learn how to deal with hybrids,” McCoy scoffed, forcing himself not to jab a finger into the other doctor’s chest with every word being said. Honestly, school children are taught this stuff. 

The other doctor couldn’t put together a statement to counter that, so said nothing. 

“I’m dealing with a gaggle of oil-diffusing savages,” McCoy said though a grumble as they began to work. “His pulse is too low, way too low, 180-200 would be safer,“ he hissed at a machine that was struggling to beep in time with Spock’s heart.

“We can’t find this blood type,” the trauma nurse that we followed for the last chapter asked. He had managed to join back in helping the operation, somehow. He was working with whoever was put in charge of getting more blood for Spock, but they had clearly hit a roadblock. 

“His blood is T-,” McCoy informed, not even missing a beat. 

“Will he be able to take 0- blood and human plasma?” 

“For Spock?” McCoy seemed to think for a moment. 

“If he’s half human his body may be able to process it,” The nurse replied. On that TV episode they had been able to make his body produce more blood, but the patient could hardly make any as it was.

“It doesn’t matter if he can ‘process’ it, you can’t just take blood out of an alien and put it in another. The bacteria will kill him.” 

“Transfused blood is comply clean of any foreign substance, it’s just pure blood filter as much as we can clean it,” the nurse stated, He’s losing more blood than his body can replace. Will human O neg work or not?” 

“I’ve never tried, but it’s going to have to do,” McCoy admitted. Something about that idea didn’t sit right with him, but so did the idea of letting Spock bleed to death. 

The nurse nodded at two more that were standing behind McCoy to go and get just that. 

“You seem to know a lot about Vulcan biology,” McCoy commented, and eyebrow raised at the trauma nurse. 

“Uh, Yes sir,” the nurse replied carefully as he finished changing the bag of blood that was attached to an IV. 

McCoy looked back at what he was doing. “Finally,” he grumbled. 

The room didn’t go any quitter as they worked to stitch and sorter Spock back together, but it felt like it. Spock’s rapidly shifting heart rate and him taking the Human O- blood were the two things concerning McCoy the most. Sure it should have been alright on paper and really the only thing that they could have done, and Spock wasn’t going any extreme signs of rejection other than his blood starting to brown, but it was still just a theory being forced into practice. McCoy didn’t doubt that neither he or that anybody else in that theatre couldn’t do the job, but he just wished that they still had their regular plot armour in this world like they had back home. 

It was silly to think of it like that, but he was still right in at least hoping for it. 

Without thinking about it all that much, McCoy did what he usually did to keep focused and distract himself from the mortality of his co-workers: Bitch. 

“…and you people are still sending others out on sleeper ships. It’s all so _primitive_.” 

The trauma nurse still opposed McCoy gave him a confused look. McCoy looked up at him. 

“You know, spaceships? The small ones made on Earth around this time?”

He shook his head slowly. He at the look on him that looked like he was seconds away from having an ‘oh yeahhhh’ moment of realization, but was never going to get there. 

McCoy lowered his needle. “What do you mean you don’t know? What year is this supposed to be?”

“Uh, 2019, sir,” The nurse replied. 

“Oh, well, early sublight then. It’s all the same.” 

The nurse’s face didn’t change. 

“You people _do_ have ships out there, right?” McCoy was beginning to feel like he was going to go mad. 

“There are, uh, NASA people in orbit, and we have robots on Mars.” 

McCoy completely stopped sewing, somebody else held his place. “That’s it? Nothing?”

“No Bon-doc. No, Doctor.” 

“Oh, well,” McCoy started up again, not really having a good rebuttal to learning that in this timeline space travel was almost half a century behind where it should be. “Disappointing. I suppose that this place is a lot more different from what I thought.” There was another pause as he glanced back at the unformatted nurse who was stuck talking to him, “You people _have_ been to the moon, right? That big rock in the sky?”

“In the late sixties, yes.” 

“Alright then,” McCoy said with a sigh. “At least you’ve got that.” People back then must have been pretty darn optimistic as to what the future was going to be if the timeline discrepancies were this big already. 

McCoy was done. He never thought that he would ever be standing around sewing another person up like fabric, but here he was. The machines beeped and everybody waited with their breath held for something to go horribly wrong. 

It didn’t, at least not yet it didn’t. 

McCoy exhaled and looked at the trauma nurse with a nod. “Try not to pump him up with chemicals, and keep his heartbeat over 180,” he informed.

“Right, get him out,” somebody in the background row of people said. Somebody else grabbed onto McCoy’s shoulder and, gently, escorted him out of the theatre. 

“Hey – excuse me!” McCoy called out as he was forcefully taken away, “I’m not done here!” 

* * *

Somewhere around a corridor or four away from the theatre, two of the on-call paramedics were on their break. Well not really on break, but hanging out by a vending machine waiting to be useful. 

“Ya here what’s apparently going on in theatre 4?” the first said as he finished a drink of flavoured milk, throwing the box in a cardboard bin. “It’s almost like an uh, reverse ‘Galaxy Quest.’” 

“What the fuck is a ‘Galaxy Quest?’” the second asked looking up from his phone. 

“Ya’know it, it’s a movie.”

“Does a man get stabbed in it?”

“Uh, I don’t think so. It’s been a while since I’ve seen it.”

“Then it’s not relevant. How is it relevant to any of this?”

“I’m just saying.”

“Then stop saying.” 

Their conversation was cut off by somebody who looked to be one of the doctors being taken away by local law enforcement, still in scrubs. They watched him for a little bit, it was a lot of one-sided swearing. McCoy practically got dragged away by the shoulders. 

“Hard to believe that that man’s a doctor,” the first commented. 

“Well, he _is_ being dragged away by the fuzz. That would make me mad.” 

“Yeah that’s fair enough.” 

“You wanna get proper lunch?”

“Shit yeah, I’m starving,” the first replied before pulling out his phone to order some.   
  


* * *

Kirk felt like an idiot. He was so used to dealing with ‘big bads’ he could reason with, or at least sort out issues with a good old punch-up or two. This whole weekend he had bent himself around like a pretzel trying to justify and explain what was going on, but what did it end up being? 

A giant fucking alien Pterosaur. 

It was a real life’s Occam's razor. But annoying and stupid. There wasn’t some big conspiracy, just bad luck. 

Kirk was standing on the table cycling through the channels on a small, corner-mounted tv by the time McCoy was escorted back in. McCoy’s ‘‘At my age, I need glasses’ with pictures of wine and shot glasses under the text’ t-shirt might have been humorous, if it wasn’t for everything else that was currently going on. The two exchanged knowing nods. 

“Nobody’s reporting on this properly,” Kirk said, looking back up at the tv. The news was on. “It’s all wrong.” 

“What counts as ‘wrong?’” McCoy asked, closing the door behind him with a soft ‘click.’ 

Kirk climbed down off the table, fixing the crinkles of his uniform once he was down. The sweater he had been wearing over it all this time was somewhere, McCoy didn’t care much for where. “From what I can tell, the most that anybody is saying is that it’s a terrorist attack, or at least an attempted one.”

“I think I can believe they would do a cover-up, yes,” McCoy replied quietly. 

Kirk seemed unsure about that. “How would you cover it up? Lots of people there and were even filming the entire thing.” 

“I don’t know, Jim. This stuff isn’t really my speciality.” 

Kirk nodded. He couldn’t fault the doctor for that. “What’s happening with Spock? How is he?”

“I had to sew the man up with string,” The doctor reported, putting his hand through his thin brown hair. It wasn’t as neat and solid as it usually was. 

“But he’s stable, right?” Kirk asked. 

“If they don’t try anything stupid with him, yes. But I don’t trust any of them not to do so.” 

“Why were you called up?”

“They must have believed us, somehow,” McCoy said, not sure for himself either. It had all been quite a rush. “I suppose that If they will believe in a weather balloon faulting when an observation drone crashes they will believe in a terror attack at a busy convention center, or that this random arrestee is the only person who can save the victim,” McCoy said with a sigh. “How’s it been on your end?”

“Good, good,” Kirk said quickly. “It’s just been more of the same and waiting it out in here.” 

“Any news from the others?”

Kirk shook his head. “No way for me to contact, and neither of them have been in here.” Chekov and Scotty being out there did worry him as a captain, but there was nothing much he could do for now other than have faith in their away mission training. 

McCoy allowed himself a long, drawn-out sigh. “This whole thing is a mess. It’s like they want to convict and treat us like aliens, but don’t have the ability to.” 

“Well, aside from Spock,” Kirk said. 

“Spock doesn’t count. And it’s not like anybody ever died from being half Vulcan.” McCoy seemed to pause. “Actually - no wait,” he muttered. “Human and Vulcan hybrids _do_ have a very high infant mortality rate.” He looked back at Kirk. “But that doesn’t matter here anyways, he’s a grown-ass adult.” 

There was a small break in the conversation. “He’ll be alright,” Kirk assured, mostly to himself, “He always is.” 

“Yeah, it’s annoying,” McCoy quipped. 

Kirk shrugged. “He’s a main character, I suppose.”

“Yes, but not anymore,” McCoy said quietly back. Both men became quiet. An old-style advertisement for a vacuum cleaner came on, they both watched in silence it with nothing better to do. 


	15. The Gang's Back Together, Almost

It was an hour or two before Kirk and McCoy were taken out of the little interrogation room and escorted out of the building. Nobody really cared to give the Starfleet officers all that much attention as it happened, you would be surprised how many cosplayers just like them got arrested during these sort of weekends. 

“What now? Bail?” McCoy asked the officer behind him, struggling to get some breathing room between the two of them. He could smell what the man had for lunch.

The cop gave a small chuckle at that, his grip not changing. “Nope. But you’re getting out of our hair.”

That wasn’t a good answer, or very clear. “Great,” the doctor mumbled back.

Here’s what I, and therefore the reader, can be allowed to know:

The right people had been called to deal with the alien, and the whole event with Spock and his distinctive not-humanness just compiled into an increasingly worrying case. This whole situation was a federal issue now, and was justly treated as such. The Giburi was captured (turns out it’s pretty easy to bribe) and was to be moved with ducttape around its snout and foam on it’s thagomizer somewhere better equipped to handle it. Whatever was actually going on, Kirk and McCoy had something to do with it. It wasn’t worth taking any risks in letting them go.

He’s what Kirk and McCoy knew:

Nothin’.

Not that it would have helped or anything if they had actually gotten told what’s going on, they still wouldn’t be able do anything about it.

The Captain and doctor exchanged looks as they were led outside the automatic doors. There were a lot more uniformed officers out there then there had been when the two had been brought in, and only a small amount of them were police officers. Well, at least they didn’t all have to worry too much about keeping the prime directive anymore - if that even mattered in a world where they where the ones to have invented you in the first place.

“Well, at least it’s not a firin’ squad,” McCoy humored quietly.

Kirk didn’t find any amusement in that. A large shadow rolled over the two of them.

Kirk softly elbowed the doctor. “Over there,” he directed to a small gap in the people towards a man, “looks like trouble.”

Just far enough away for the two to get a look at without it being weird, was a man in the fanciest (real) uniform the two had seen all day, aside from their own. He was giving orders both to people around him and into a handheld radio. He quickly noticed that Kirk and McCoy were looking directly at him and gave a glare. The Starfleet officers quickly looked away and back to themselves.

“Definitely looks like trouble,” McCoy commented. “This is bad.”

Kirk brought his hands over his face to try and buy some thinking time from himself. Why where they just standing outside like this? What was the holdup?

A large flatbed truck turned onto the main road, the same road that the busses took to get there. It was the kind of truck with a tied down coloured tarp for walls. It stopped just after the cross-roads, waiting for it’s escort. The tarp and truck were unlabeled.

Kirk guessed that that was the holdup, and what had happened to their little friend.

“’We’re not really from around here,’” McCoy imitated rather badly with a grumble, “you should have just said we were cosplayers.”

Kirk looked at him with a bit of a squint. “But we’re not. Lying about it wouldn’t have helped and would have just made this whole thing worse.”

“Does it even matter anymore?” McCoy hissed. “We can’t do or say anythin’ about anythin’ anymore. They’re going to keep us in these cuffs all the way to ‘area 51.’”

* * *

At this near-exact point in time, Chekov and Scotty were flying just overhead of the general area in the shuttle. Scotty was watching the ground below out of the sliding, van-like door, his short hair and thrift-store jacket moving with the wind. They were keeping watch for a deployment or a sure sign of what had happened to the rest of their crew with the ship’s cloak on as high as they could maintain it. The last thing that they needed right now was to get shot down by something.

Most of the activity that the two were following was right outside of the Don Martin Convention Center most of the activity that the two were following. The shuttle moved over towards it but kept high enough to avoid hitting any of the buildings. The entire area had been entirely blocked out to the public, instead of being replaced by an assortment of police and army vehicles. Perhaps it was a little overkill, but that was just how humans are. They would have been scared.

Scotty watched the people down below. They had no idea that he was up there, and as soon as somebody pointed it out, they all would be. That’s how the cloak worked, but for now, there was just a ship flying overhead. Eh whatever.

He looked back into the cabin, “Anything?” he asked.

Chekov pressed a few of the buttons on the multitouch-screen in the middle of the dash. “No Vulcan life that I can see,” he reported back with a lean of his chair. “These sensors are more attuned to tell us how things are moving, and not the exact details of the ‘things.’” Not much they could do in their lil flying taxi.

Scotty sighed. If the captain still had his communicator on him this would be a lot easier, but nope. He opened the little device and fiddled around on just a receiving setting listing around for activity. Most of what he could hear was just old FM radio and telephone signals, but it was a start.

The two moved down the same street that they had ran down along to catch their breath a few hours before. A small police officer was on one of its corners with recently painted-over graffiti on one of the windows. Scotty saw McCoy and the Captain and signaled for the shuttle to stay in place.

A large shadow came across the street.

McCoy was the first of the two to notice the whole entire alien shuttle just above him. He flinched and then got Kirk’s attention by a shove of the arm. Kirk also flinched before looking up with a wide smile. It was Scotty! Scotty was here! Yay!

The main problem now was that Scotty, for as amazing as it was in being there, couldn’t just land the ship and bring them in. Another problem was that they didn’t have a way to just transport them up, so that idea only lasted half a moment. Both sides of the away team just kept on watching the other for a signal. Kirk looked around, Everybody was already so preoccupied with what they were doing that nobody even noticed what was going on.

Being as careful as it could, the shuttle waited for an opportunity to act. Kirk and McCoy braced themselves for whatever they had to do next, whether it was to simply ‘leg it’ out of there or to follow another, better, plan from the other officers.

Kirk and Scotty exchanged nods, a thumb went out towards the shuttle’s pilot, and then the ship dipped down into the clearance the second that nobody was looking inwards. Scotty hocked his boots into the side of the door and braced himself. In each arm he was able to lift up each of his crewmates up into the air and into the ship, legs and arms got everywhere as a three-person pile was created on the floor. The ship quickly sloped to the side so they would roll in.

“Chekov, go!” Kirk grunted loudly, pushing himself away from Scotty on the floor. The ship moved quickly and quietly up away from the scene of the crime with a soft gold-recycling electric buzz. They came to a stop on top of a building, using a baby formula billboard as a make-do hiding spot. The ship blended in well enough with all the aircon vents around them.

It took a moment or two for somebody down on the ground to notice that Kirk and McCoy were missing. There was a natural panic that followed, and a lot of calls made to try and figure out what just the hell had just happened.

“Scotty!” Kirk said with a broad smile to the engineer half underneath him. “Good timing.”

“Hopefully’,” Scotty replied as he sat up. They had been heavier than he thought they would be.

Kirk stood up and leaned out the door as he tried to see what was going on. He grit his teeth as he looked on at the commotion they had caused in their escape. It was like seeing ants panic after you take a bit piece of food away from them. While they were still harvesting it. Thank god they didn’t have any scanners.

“How’s Spock?” Scotty asked, helping McCoy find his balance. Scotty took out a sonic screwdriver-like device from the inside of his jacket to free the doctor from the handcuffs.

McCoy opened his mouth to speak, but then stopped. “I don’t know,” he said softly. “I don’t know what’s going on with him.”

Kirk looked back and squinted in his usual Kirk-ey way. “Leonard,” You were just there in the operating room. There’s still blood on your shirt.”

McCoy looked down at his sleeves as if he hadn’t of noticed the dried green blood on them. You could see him fight himself to not exclaim something. Scotty kept in close, one arm on the headrest of a chair and other out to the doctor.

“Of course,” Kirk exclaimed with a sigh and his hands up. “Why would you need to remember? Just like everyone and everything else on that god-damn planet. I’m starting to hate this.”

McCoy’s demeanor had hardly changed as he tried to piece together the last few hours. It was like recalling a dream. How did that happen? “Wait… no… hang on,” his face scrunched up, “Yes.”

Kirk’s face became softer. “Bones, it’s okay,” he tried to assure him with. “Spock’s fine, you got asked to help him. Now we just have to get him back and out of here.”

“No, I know that,” McCoy said.

Chekov got out of his seat and looked out of the doorway. “Did none of them really notice us?” He asked quietly. He still wasn’t sure how that went down so smoothly. “We were right under their noses. Or on top of their noses. The sky’s above them.”

“It must all be very effective on humans,” McCoy thought out loud as Kirk’s handcuffs were taken off and fell to the floor, “I don’t really like any of the implications there, so I’m going to say we’re on a lucky streak.” He quickly double-tapped the floor with his boot after saying that.

“The ‘implication’ is that we all need to focus on getting back to reality,” Kirk replied, dropping the title of the story without even knowing it. All that he needed was a spark of inspiration, or for something to go well and give them a sauce bottle’s shake over the situation. There’s nothing wrong with a little Deus Ex Machina every now and again.

The man that they assumed to be in charge went over to the front of the truck that got mentioned earlier in the chapter. He talked with a person or two that had been close and then got in the passenger seat. The truck chugged into a moving gear and out of there. The Starfleet officers watched it turn a corner with an escort.

“That must have been what’s happened with the beastie,” Scotty said, bringing out a display from the dashboard to try and get a better reading on it. “Ay can’t think of much else that would be in there if not it.”

“Where would they be taking it?” Kirk asked himself soft enough that the others didn’t answer.

“Spock could be in any one of those other vans,” McCoy assumed, trying to see anything that might be it.

Another van came down the road from the direction of the hospital and stopped by the group of people. Paperwork would have been checked over, somebody joined in the back, and then it followed the truck. Kirk watched people dispatch and the van carry on. Clearly moving the aliens was a priority for these people, the non-aliens having disappeared was not going to disrupt their schedule. “We need to follow it. Wherever they’re taking it I think they might be taking Spock.”

“What if they don’t?” Chekov asked, leaning over to join the conversation. “They might not have moved Mr Spock, he could still be sick.”

Kirk looked to him. “We still need to get away from these people. They… don’t have any of the basic protocols that we use, and I don’t know what they’re going to try and do next. That alien’s a bad time waiting to happen for both sides.

“They’re going to kill Spock, I just know it,” McCoy cursed quietly. “Whether they mean too or not. Gonna’ unplug him from their primate monitors and take him somewhere as he bleeds out into the carpet,” he looked out onto the city again, “Or on the road.”

“And even if they don’t, it’s going to be hard to get them to give him back so we can all go home,” Chekov commented.

Kirk looked down at the people again. The commotion hadn’t changed, in fact it was almost worse. He was thankful to have finally gotten away from it all. “Gentlemen,” Kirk said, turning to see the rest of his crew with his best ‘captain’s hat’ on, “we’re going to go and get them back. Spock I have hope for, but if we know what’s happening and we’re still freaking out, I don’t want to know how hard that creature is taking it. This is our reasonability, not theirs.”

There was not a single opposition.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would not be surprised if this is the worse/least impressive chapter of the whole fic, tbh. It felt like working on an assignment, but it needed to be done since it's an important bridge in the story. Like, not from a lack of a muse being in the way, but more the muse going 'write it. write it. It's been pretty much all done for a month now you can just edit it a little and then post it.' while poking at me with a stick as I stare at a semi-pirated Microsoft Word window with the chapter open. 
> 
> I'm excited for the next one, though. Big climax chapters are a bitch and a half to write but they're amazing to finish and post, lemmy say that. That one idea that you have before you even start writing the story finally being put to paper? yEAHHH baaaaybe that's what I'm here for.


End file.
